


Neighborly

by Lawdie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilbo likes Rush, F/M, M/M, Neighbors, New Beginnings, Thorin owns a jeep, feel good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lawdie/pseuds/Lawdie
Summary: Bilbo Baggins and his nephew move next door to Dís Durin; it quickly spirals from there.





	1. August

**Author's Note:**

> This is a love song about finding a place to call home.

The house is perfect. Bilbo had been skeptical as he skimmed through the pictures posted online and even more so at the asking price. It had to be haunted. For all that space and those hardwood floors, the last owner must’ve been a serial killer. There couldn’t possibly be any other reason they were asking so little for it. As he sits in the coffee shop across from his favorite library, he finds himself disbelieving.

Bilbo harrumphs as he thinks back to Gandalf pushing him to go look at it.

“Not for anyone’s sake but Frodo’s,” the old coot had said, trying to keep the twinkle from his eyes and failing. Bilbo had known Gandalf his entire life, and there was always a reason for his suggestions: always a thing that he would conveniently remember at the penultimate moment.

This has to be a trap. The backyard must be infested with bears.

When the woman sitting across from Bilbo stands up and moves away, he realizes he’s been muttering under his breath.

Instead of fretting about it, as he was wont to do, Bilbo decides he has to see it to believe it. He sets up a meeting with his realtor for next Monday and something inside him settles. This was change that so desperately needed to happen.

Come Monday, Bilbo is pushed to the edge of his wits. Raising an eight (soon to be nine) year old wasn’t something Bilbo had planned on. Going from being a bachelor to a parent overnight was no small feat, and nor was it one to come without upsets on behalf of both parties. Poor, sweet Frodo was just a boy who wanted his parents and had to make due with an uncle. It had been close to half a year since the accident, and Frodo was still a far cry from his former self.

To say Bilbo is feeling defeated is precise. But with bags under his eyes and hope in his heart he follows his realtor’s SUV closely, only vaguely paying attention to the moving scenery.

They pull up to the house and it’s all Bilbo can do to not cry. It’s picturesque in its stature and the pictures had done it only so much justice. The road the split-level sits upon ends in a cul-de-sac and is encapsulated by trees and a forest further beyond.

“Let’s get to it then,” his realtor says, smiling at Bilbo’s slack jawed expression.

The front door opens and Bilbo takes a minute looking around, letting his eyes adjust to the dimly lit foyer. It opens up to a hearth room complete with a brick fireplace in the corner. The kitchen is further back, and stairs to his left lead to a couple of bedrooms and bathrooms. There are scuff marks in the floor and wear and tear on many of the doors. This was a lived in home at one point; Bilbo finds it endearing. A little renovation didn't scare him. Besides if you didn’t have to work at something, it normally wasn’t worth it. Or at least that’s how he rationalizes immediately placing an offer on it.

The portly man that was showing him around laughs heartily. “I can see you’re interested, and far be it from me to say no. I’ll let the owner know, give me just a moment,” he hums as he pulls out a cellphone and steps into the kitchen.

Bilbo feels all kinds of emotions at once: jittery excitement, nauseating fear, and bubbly giddiness. He walks back to the front door and opens it, glad to be stepping outside where a breeze is playing through the neighborhood. The first whisperings of autumn are apparent in the hesitant reds and oranges on the leaves of the trees that hang above him. His attention is pulled to his right, where a minivan is pulling into the driveway. As it parks, the passenger doors slam open and two blurs are racing to the front door.

“Loser has to do dishes for the rest of the week,” giggles a boy with dark hair, who looks a little older than Frodo, at another. The race intensifies for all of the twenty feet it must be.

“Mom says the dishes have to actually be done in the first place for that to be a legitimate threat,” drones a woman with longer dark hair and arms full of groceries. She shuts the car door with her foot and Bilbo decides to introduce himself.

“Ah, can I lend a hand?” he asks from what may soon be his driveway. He steps closer as he asks and the two boys who were arguing at the door are staring at him with huge round eyes.

The woman sees him and her face brightens in a rosy way.

“No, no, that’s what I had children for. Fíli, Kíli, help a lady out,” she barks, not meanly. The two race back to her and she unloads some of her weight into their arms. “But thanks very much! Are you looking at the house?” She gestures with a flick of her eyes and Bilbo smiles widely.

“If it all goes to plan, we’ll be next door neighbors.” Bilbo might still be riding the spiraling high of life altering investments.

“Oh fantastic! Where are my manners, my name is Dís Durin. These are my thing 1 and 2, Fíli and Kíli.” Bilbo smiles at the boys and Kíli grins back, smile dimmed only by two missing teeth.

“It’s nice to meet you all. My name is Bilbo Baggins.” Dís somehow smiles wider and goes to shake his hand. She and Bilbo laugh at her maneuver to get the eggs to another hand. They shake and Bilbo is impressed with her grip. A good handshake was telling.

“Don’t let me keep you all, please. I imagine I’ll be back here within the next week or so.” Bilbo smiles slowly, looking back up at the house.  
“It’s not a worry. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Baggins,” Dís intones and makes for her home.

“Please, Bilbo is just fine.”

“Then Bilbo,” she smiles over her shoulder and disappears within her home with her boys. Bilbo moves back over to the front door and hears his podgy realtor clambering around inside, a smile in his voice.

“Mr. Baggins, I have some wonderful news.”

 

* * *

 

It takes half day to pack all of Frodo’s things. Bilbo feels like the child when it takes nearly triple that time to get his belongings in check. The furniture he had inherited from his family was worn with many good memories and Bilbo was eager to see them in what would be his and Frodo’s new house. The apartment they were currently living in was enough for Bilbo, but it wasn’t near enough for a nearly nine year old as well. Even one as subdued as Frodo.

It worries Bilbo that he isn’t doing enough for his nephew. He wonders how to approach him, his parents’ deaths still hanging so heavily over the boy.

The night before the movers are slated to take everything away to the new house, Bilbo finds himself sitting on the floor of the living room watching Treasure Planet with Frodo. He hands him another slice of pepperoni pizza and the boy diligently munches away as the movie plays on.

“You know, I met our new next door neighbors when I went to look at the house.” Frodo nods absentmindedly and takes another bite. “A couple of boys around your age. They seemed nice.” Frodo looks at Bilbo.

“I hope they’ll want to be my friends.” Bilbo’s heart breaks a little for the boy. “I’m sure they will. You’ll meet them tomorrow, and you’ll be the best of friends.” Bilbo knows that might not happen, but it didn’t hurt to encourage. Frodo leans into his side, and Bilbo wraps an arm around the child’s shoulders. They watch Jim fly through space on the adventure of a lifetime. Bilbo wishes he had the character's confidence. He hopes and hopes and hopes this will be a good thing, for the both of them.

 

* * *

  

“Shut the door behind you, Frodo!” Bilbo shouts out the back door, closing it himself, a little miffed, but happier that Frodo was running outside, looking more like his happy go lucky self in weeks. Months even. Moving was hellacious. He couldn’t believe he had packed that many boxes. They just kept coming. After tipping a generous amount to the men and woman who spent the better half of the morning unloading box after box, Bilbo collapses into the sofa. He had unpacked the necessities, and the kitchen was completely stocked and loaded. Aside from that nothing was where it needed to be, but Bilbo couldn’t be assed to lift another finger. He dozed for a few minutes before the sound of laughter drifted in through the screen door.

Bilbo is out of his seat, curious as to just who was laughing, daring to think it might even be Frodo.

His heart soars as he peaks out the window over the sink that faced the backyard. Kíli and Frodo were waving sticks in the air as Fíli ran around the two flapping his arms.

“He’s a dragon and we’re wizards and I’m the green wizard, you can be the blue one,” Kíli’s lisp didn’t stop him from giving play by play shots of the game the three of them had come up with. As the three continued on, Bilbo felt his lip tremble. He sniffed once, and looked at the ceiling of their kitchen. This was the right decision. The smile on his nephew’s face that had been rarely seen since his parents passed was living proof. He coughed to clear his closed up throat and opened the back door.

“What do we have here?” Bilbo asked in his best bad guy voice. The children froze where they were and turned to him, with wide eyes. “I spy a dragon and two wizards! How dare they trespass on my kingdom; as King of the Trolls I must defend what’s mine!” Fíli and Kíli caught on immediately. Frodo’s smile was blinding.

“How could we have known, Red Dragon, that we would one day be friends? Let us defeat the evil Troll Lord!” Kíli shouts as the three children turn on Bilbo. Oh no. He should have thought this out. But it was too late; Fíli took off after him in a sprint and Bilbo would be damned if he lost a game of tag to some teenager. He makes it to the other side of the yard, closer to the Durin’s garden and probably in their backyard. And then Fíli tackles him.

With the wind knocked out of him, Bilbo wheezes as he tries not to cry and laugh at the same time. Frodo was laughing, praise Aulë. If all it took was him getting knocked to the ground once or twice, Bilbo was willing to sacrifice his back to the cause.

“FÍLI DURIN, YOU GET OFF OF HIM RIGHT NOW.” Uh-oh. Dís was something to behold in all of her rage as she burst from the backdoor. Bilbo sputtered and got his breath back.

“No, no, it’s okay, Dís, it’s,” he coughs once and then is helped up by both Fíli and Dís. “I started it,” Bilbo explains, not wanting to ruin the boys’ fun. Dís gives him a once over and pats some dirt off of his T-shirt.

“If you’re sure,” Bilbo nods and smiles warmly. “Can’t have my oldest scare off the new neighbors just yet.” This time Bilbo laughs softly, still a wheeze of amusement.

“He’d be hard pressed at this point, I have a kingdom to defend.” Bilbo musses Kíli’s hair as he and Frodo join them. Dís ducks down to level with Frodo and Bilbo wonders how they’ll get on.

“Who might you be?” If Bilbo thought Frodo was withdrawn, it was made apparent by his eyes darting to him first before the boy answered, looking cowed.

“My name is Frodo Baggins. I’m eight years old, but I’ll be nine in thirty-one days.” Dís widened her eyes comically and offered her hand.

“Well, my days, we’d better have a party then! It’s nice to meet you, Frodo. My name is Dís. I’m Fíli and Kíli’s mom.” Frodo took it and shook it before stepping away from her and toward Bilbo.

“Dís, this is my nephew, Frodo. He’ll be living with me.” Something in Dís’ eyes said she understood there was more not being said for the sake of the children. She straightens up and smiles.

“Well it’s a pleasure to have you as neighbors. How goes unpacking?” Bilbo almost shuddered.

“Traumatic. We’ll survive, somehow.” Dís laughs loudly and Bilbo finds comfort in it. He might be a little bit taken with the woman.

“Could I perhaps tempt you with a welcome to the neighborhood dinner tonight?” Bilbo almost faints.

“Why, Mrs. Durin, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to win us over with food!” Bilbo says in mock shock. Dís eyes dance in mirth. Her dimples only accentuate her shrewd smile.

“And I wouldn't have it any other way. It’s a little after five now,” she says, glancing at a watch on her left wrist. “Come around, say, seven-ish? Oh, any allergies or vegetarians present?” Bilbo beams. “Unless Frodo’s hiding something from me,” he nudges his nephew, “we’re thankfully allergy free. Whatever you’re having, we’ll have.” Dís nods and gathers her two boys. Bilbo takes Frodo by the hand and smiles as he waves at the boys.

“Ah, we’ll bring some dessert over!” Dís grins and that’s that. Bilbo gets Frodo in a bathtub and makes a quick deal of cleaning both of them quickly. They had dessert to make. An hour later and the Bagginses were up to their elbows cookie dough. Frodo had an absentminded smile on his face. Bilbo threw together the last batch to be baked quickly and sent Frodo to wash his hands. He look down at his outfit, and realized he too needed to change; that is, unless he wanted to be rocking his ratty Led Zeppelin t-shirt and oldest pair of jeans he owned to his own welcome party. Pulling the last of the cookies out to cool, Bilbo shut off the oven and passed Frodo as the boy came back into the kitchen. “No touching, they’re still piping hot. I’ll be right back, need to change.”

Bilbo throws on a clean button down and a newer pair of jeans he pulled out of a box he opened earlier in his room. He runs his fingers through his hair and pulls it up and off of his neck with a hair tie. He runs back down the stairs and Frodo is looking suspiciously innocent.

“I hope that cookie was worth the burnt tongue,” Bilbo starts, smiling. Frodo smiles slowly, a little chocolate still in his teeth. “You trouble-child,” Bilbo chides, shaking his head. They pull a bowl out of another box and fill it to the brim with cookies. Frodo swats at Bilbo’s hand when he goes to eat one. “A trouble-child and hypocrite, I’m raising,” he grumbles as Frodo sticks out his tongue.

At six fifty-five Bilbo knocks on the Durin’s front door. As they wait for the door to open, Bilbo grabs Frodo’s hand and squeezes.

The red door opens with a creak, and Fíli and Kíli tumble over each other to greet them. “Hello, Mr. Boggins, Hi Frodo! Let’s go!” Kíli takes Frodo’s hand and they’re off into the house. Bilbo smiles, and turns to Fíli. “Good evening, Red Dragon.” Fíli laughs quietly and moves out of the way for him to step inside.

“Ma, Bilbo’s here!” Dís pops into existence at the end of the entrance hallway and looks a little uncomfortable. Bilbo tries to ask her what was wrong, and a thundering of voices drowns him out. Suddenly a whole slew of people come streaming out of what must’ve been the living room. Bilbo smiles haphazardly. Dís is at his side in a moment, taking the cookies from him and apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry, Bilbo, it’s Friday night and we have these things on-” “We can reschedule if you want, Dís-” “No, no, no- please make yourself at home. You even made cookies! Everyone, this is Bilbo Baggins and he is a gift!” The group of people of various sizes, shapes, and ages seem to move as one and they are upon him.

Dís, Aulë bless her, runs interference and introduces everyone as they shake Bilbo’s hand. First is a tall man, with brown hair, and three children around him.

“Bilbo, this is Bard Bowman. His children Sigrid, Bain and Tilda.” Bard shakes Bilbo’s hand and smiles broadly. The man was, simply put, charming. “We live in the cul-de-sac just a few houses down. It’s nice to meet you, Bilbo was it?” “Bilbo Baggins. Me and my nephew, Frodo, will be around, hopefully for a while.” Bard laughs and claps Bilbo on the shoulder. “If you’re half the man Dís says you are, I’m looking forward to that.” Bilbo flushes, unused to such praise, and scratches his nose. “Nice to meet you,” Bilbo mutters as Bard has already turned to speak to another man. A hand on his shoulder makes him jump a little bit. The voice that accompanies it makes him whirl around in surprise.

“Gandalf, what are you-?”

“Just had to see it to believe,” the older man leans on his walking cane and smiles kindly.

“Bilbo, you know Gandalf?” Dís looks between the two of them, a laugh bubbling out of her. Bilbo turns to the man.

“My entire life. I grew up next door to this man.” Gandalf laughs his great, thundering laugh and if Bilbo was feeling nervous, he’s now entirely at ease. He meets Balin, a cousin of Dís’ and Dwalin another relation in business with Dís’ brother, Thorin. At that, Dís tuts. “That brother of mine, late again. I told him we were expecting.” Dwalin pats her shoulder and then runs a hand down his face. Bilbo spies a couple of tattoos on the man’s hands and wonder what he does. “You know how Thorin gets,” is what he says with a small grimace that he quickly covers with a smile. Bilbo senses this is a sensitive topic and pipes in.

“Can I help with dinner at all?” Dís turns to him face blossoming into another one of her all-encompassing smiles. A skid of children come running into the kitchen where the adults were stood talking. A chorus of, “I’m hungry,” rings through the room for in a hodgepodge of tones and piercing notes. Dís and Balin laugh, and they three of them including Bilbo go about setting the dishes of food on the table. Once everyone is situated, and it’s a process when you have this many people in a single room, they begin to pass the food and serve each other and Bilbo finds himself sandwiched between Gandalf and Balin.

Dinner itself is a loud affair. Bilbo can’t quite understand what anyone is saying, but he finds he doesn’t mind. Frodo is saying something animated to Kíli and Bain and the three of them look up to no good. Bilbo breathes out through his nose and Gandalf grunts. “I’m glad this is good.” Bilbo clears his throat before responding, feeling another bout of emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

“Me too, old friend.”

A couple of hours later, Bilbo finds himself yawning; looking over at where Frodo is leaned against Gandalf, he isn’t surprised the boy is passed out. He gathers his nephew and finds Dís.

“Thank you so very much for you hospitality, Mrs. Durin, but my runt’s passed out and I’m not far behind.” Dís, in her skirts and bandana, only gestures to the front door.

“Any time Mr. Baggins. I think Kíli might explode should he not see Frodo tomorrow and the day after that.” They share a chuckle and before Bilbo can step outside, he’s ushered out by Balin and Dwalin and Bard and Gandalf, and all of a sudden the party’s at his house now.

“Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I haven’t exactly unpacked-” Balin interrupts him with a sharp clap to the back. Bilbo sets Frodo down and the boy grumbles his discontent at being woken up. He turns to the older man. “That’s why we’re here, my boy,” Balin booms. “This is an unpacking party.”

Bilbo almost can’t believe it. These people he had met mere hours ago were in his home, putting his books away and unwrapping clocks he had entirely forgotten he packed. As he remembers himself, Bilbo scrambles to make sure his and Frodo’s personal things are already in their rooms. Once sure nothing too embarrassing will be unpacked accidentally, Bilbo returns to the sitting room where the boxes were stacked row after row. In the living room, the furniture has been pushed around and something resembling a dining room starts to come together. Bard and Sigrid move the piano and heavier furniture under Bilbo’s guidance. Gandalf puts books away in one of the many bookcases that lined the living room. Someone is playing music from their phone and Bilbo wants to cry. ‘These people, these kind, kind people,’ he thinks, not for the first time that night. They chip away at everything and come fifteen past midnight, there’s only three boxes left. The younger kids were passed out in the front room, blankets thrown over them to ward away the cooling August night.

Gandalf is the first and only to depart. Bilbo walks him to the front porch and shares a hug with him.

“Oh don’t cry, Bilbo.” He shudders once, reigning himself in and wipes his eyes.

“I can’t believe it, Gandalf. Frodo hasn’t stopped smiling today. It’s been months.” Gandalf hugs him once more and Bilbo smiles, eyes shining. “There is still good in the world, Bilbo. Sometimes it takes change to find it.” Gandalf nails him with a look and Bilbo nods as he waves goodbye.

A jeep pulls into Dís’ driveway as Gandalf reaches his car. The older man stops and greets the other driver, obviously familiar. Bilbo is about to turn back and lock up for the night, but suddenly Gandalf and the other man are looking at him. Gandalf waves and turns to leave. Bilbo waves a hand, a little awkwardly. He thinks, ‘This must be Dís’ brother.’

The man strides towards Bilbo and stops just shy of the first step up to the where Bilbo’s standing.

“Good evening.” Thorin’s so like Dís in the set of his brow and the color of his eyes. But his voice is a few timbres too deep and shoulders expansive. The man’s long hair is tied back in a high ponytail and his oxfords shine in the moonlight. He’s an oddly complimentary mix of professional and expressive. He extends a hand and Bilbo grasps it. The solid handshake must be a Durin thing. Bilbo smiles warmly.

“You must be Thorin. My name is Bilbo Baggins.”

“A pleasure. I hope my sister hasn’t... come on too strong,” he grumbles, and looks Bilbo in the eye. He chuckles softly, unsure of what to do with his hands.

“Dís has been nothing but kind. A steadfast and true neighbor.” Thorin quips a small smile and Bilbo’s heart stutters the slightest. ‘Oh no,’ he thinks as a smile works its way on to his face, unbeknownst to him. The wind picks up, whipping both Thorin and Bilbo’s hair into their faces.

“And look at me, the worst neighbor, standing here not inviting you in.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose.”

“Half the neighborhood already has,” Bilbo smiles easily, can’t find it in himself to stop. Thorin takes a step up, not putting up a fight. “I’m sure we can squeeze you in as well.” Bilbo opens his front door and steps into the foyer, Thorin a step behind.

“Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?” He departs for the kitchen and only hesitates once, remembering exactly where the cups are. He pulls the cord to light up a lamp that is nestled in the corner of the room. It fills the kitchen with a dull yellow.

“Water’s good.” Thorin takes off his overcoat and rustle’s Fíli’s hair as he walks past him, joining Bilbo in the kitchen. The man looks more severe in this lighting, but Bilbo finds himself unruffled.

The two settle across from one another at the island in the middle of the room and Bilbo finds it peaceful. They fall into small talk that turns into family talk. Bilbo tells Thorin about his dearly departed parents, and leaves it at that.

“I am Dís’ older brother. There’s another brother running around the wilderness as we speak, but Frerin’s always been kind of odd,” says Thorin. The two share a huff of laughter, nursing their drinks. “Dís’ husband passed just after Kíli was born. I help around the house and she puts me up.” Ah, there it was. Bilbo knew better than to ask about who was missing from the picture, but it was nice to get the whole story. He figured, then, tit for tat.

“Frodo’s parents, well, there was an accident six months ago.” And that’s enough. Something in Thorin’s eyes tell Bilbo so. The conversation continues and glazes over the rest of the neighborhood.

“Dís calls it her burrow. Like we’re all some kinds of wild animals, just hunkering down at night.” Bilbo snorts and Thorin stands up, and refills his cup from the sink.

He turns back around to face him and leans against the counter, arms crossed with a hand around his cup. “She thinks she’s so clever,” he mumbles, and now Bilbo’s laugh is sharp, cutting through the quiet of the house.

“She must, otherwise I get the feeling the boys would walk all over her,” Bilbo nods toward the front room where said children are currently conked out. Thorin hums, and sticks Bilbo with a look. Bilbo forgets what he’s about to say, and clears his throat.

“What is it that you do, Mr. Baggins?” asks Thorin, setting down his cup, resting a hand on the counter.

“At the moment, nothing. When Frodo came into my life I had to rearrange, for lack of a better word. I write still, but only editorials. Frodo needs me to be present, and I won’t begrudge him that.”

“A novelist, then.” Bilbo smiles shyly. Before he can ask another question, Bilbo finds himself yawning. He glances at the clock and nearly does a double take.

“It’s three twenty six,” he says, not really believing his eyes. Thorin is also a little surprised, judging by the way his eyebrows rise.

“It’s late, let’s get you to bed.” Thorin’s eyes follow him as he stands up, the beginnings of crow’s feet crease as he grins. “Yes, mother,” he mutters. Bilbo decides to leave it and he show’s Thorin to his bedroom.

“Please, since it’s not like I’ll be anymore put out,” Bilbo says gesturing to the front room. Thorin nods and thanks him quietly.

As Bilbo makes his way to the guest room, he flushes sleepily. Dís’ brother was a lot of boxes checked off of a list that just did it for Bilbo. He chuckled to himself as he thought on the man. Bilbo opens the door to the room, only to find the bed occupied. Bard sprawled across the bed, spread eagle. He groans softly and swears to Aulë he’s going to never going to throw another slumber party again. He notes then that he had never really been the one to throw this party in the first place. The thought doesn’t particularly bother him. He makes his way back downstairs and looks into Frodo’s room. Dís and Dwalin are sleeping on the bed, dead to the world. Frodo wonders at them, but keeps moving. Balin is snoring in the front room along with Kíli, Frodo and Bain. Fíli, Sigrid and Tilda are curled up in a blanket pile in front of the fireplace in the hearth room. Now that his rounds are complete, every one accounted for (Bilbo may be a little slap happy) he heads back to his room. Next to the bed was a chaise lounge that did little for his back, but was a flat-ish surface to lean on. He opens the door, and Thorin’s form is turned away from him, moving slowly up and down with each breath. Bilbo closes the door behind him and takes his hair out of the tie that held it up. He practically collapses on the chair and groans again. One night of poor sleep was worth all of the smiles that Frodo had graced him with that day.

Bilbo doesn’t know how much time has passed when he is woken up by someone gently ushering him into his bed. He’s too delirious to think hard on what’s happening. Doesn’t care beyond the fact that he’s now entirely horizontal, with covers to boot. He curls to the center of the bed and sleep quickly claims him once more.

Waking up is a slow realization. Something sweet is wafting in from the kitchen. He hears feet pattering around and stretches, body still warm and pliant from sleep. The covers have bunched up at his feet and his shirt rides up from where he must have tossed in his sleep. Bilbo decides he is confused. He doesn’t remember getting in his bed last night. He blinks twice and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He hops down and begins to change. He takes off his button down and finds an old Rush t-shirt. He steps out into the hallway and hears Fíli’s laughter.

“No, that is not what happened, Uncle. You weren’t there!” Kíli points out. Bilbo smiles at their jesting and walks down the hall to greet his guests. He clears his throat and has everyone’s attention for a split second. Frodo smiles widely, and Bilbo’s heart melts that much more. Dís nods and turns back to the pancakes she’s flipping, but not without saying, “Nice shirt.” Fíli helps her, holding a plate stacked with other pancakes and he smiles. Kíli is sat at the table across from Thorin and oh. There hadn’t been sunlight streaming on his face when Bilbo met him last night, and his chest feels funny for a moment before he smiles.

“Good morning.” Everyone choruses back at him and he moves to stand next to Dís. He takes the spatula away from her at the next possible moment and shoos her to the table. “It’s what you get for inviting us over and making us feel like Kings and then unpacking our home, Dís. Deal with it.” Thorin laughs at his sister, and it takes every fiber in Bilbo’s body not to preen at being the cause of it. He finishes the last batch quickly enough and then sets the dishes in the sink. There would be time to do them later. He joins the rest at the island in the center of the kitchen and there’s just enough room to fit the six of them.

“I take it everyone had an early start?” Dís nods, cutting in to her breakfast. “Dwalin’s off renovating Mr. Brown’s kitchen. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon enough, Mr. Brown that is. His is the house that’s set farther down the lane. A real character, for sure.” The others, as he’s informed had various places to be, weekends plans to take care of. Bilbo is grateful for the reprieve. It’s nice, just the six of them. Breakfast is a pleasant affair and once everything is squared away, dishes done and blankets put away Dís gets up to leave, her boys following her.

Bilbo feels a tug on his pant leg. Frodo looks up at him with a question burning on the tip of his tongue. Bilbo nudges him.

“Is it all right I play with Fíli and Kíli today?” Bilbo feels fit to bursting with happiness. “So long as it’s not a bother, Dís…?” He thinks to ask before he just agrees. “Oh not at all. I miss having nice little ones afoot,” the woman says, ushering the three of them out the front door. Before she leaves, Dís makes a face at Bilbo. She whispers something he only half hears, and then is cackling her way down the stairs. Bilbo doesn’t know whether to be confused or afraid. He quickly abandons that line of questioning when he remembers there’s still someone in his home.

Bilbo turns and catches Thorin looking at him.

Thorin looks different in the light. His hair is darker, eyes lighter, but still very much doing things to Bilbo’s insides. Bilbo smiles shyly. The man is stood up, a whole head taller than Bilbo and he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to leave. They regard each other for a moment and Bilbo laughs.

“Your family is the epitome of charming,” Bilbo says, partly to fill the silence with something, but also to tell Thorin his family actually was wonderful. “Mahal, don’t let Dís hear you say that. We’d never hear the end of it.” The two nod, knowing that was probably right. Thorin checks his watch and frowns. “I have to be off, it seems.” Bilbo quietly stamps down his disappointment and walks him to the door. Before he can open it, Thorin pulls out his phone and taps on it quickly.

“What’s your number? I’m sure Dís forgot to ask,” he says. Bilbo can’t be bothered by who’s sake Thorin is asking for. He gives him his number and Thorin nods, lingering just a moment. He remembers something as he steps out the door; he turns back to Bilbo.

“Ah, thank you for lending me your bed. Hope it wasn’t too much of a bother.” Thorin is out the door and headed towards his Jeep. Aulë strike him down, Bilbo flushes from head to toe. That’s what didn’t add up. He and Thorin had slept in the same bed last night. Mahal, he’d only met the man yesterday!

Before he can break down, Bilbo looks up and catches Thorin’s eye again. The man’s face lifts in a ghost of a smile and then he’s gone. Bilbo feels his everything burn deeper.


	2. September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling in takes time and ups and downs.

After that whirlwind of a first twenty-four hours in their new home, Bilbo is thankful that there isn’t a repeat anytime soon. The school year had begun not a week after their arrival to the burrow and with it brought a kind of calm. The first day of school had been nerve wracking for both Frodo and Bilbo. But both made it through relatively unscathed. In the weeks that followed, Bilbo finds rhythms to living in the neighborhood.

In the morning he walks through the trails behind their home. They weave in and out of a dense forest and Bilbo is content to spend hours there, enjoying the tranquility. 

It’s on one such walk that he meets Radagast Brown. The man had given him quite a fright, practically blending in to the foliage he was painting.

“Good morning, my dude!” Bilbo almost screamed. It was a very near thing. He turns to his left where a man wearing overalls and big plastic boots is standing next to an easel. His hands and forearms are covered in smudges of paint and his hair is braided down his back. Bilbo laughs a little weakly and smiles at the man. “Good morning. I didn’t see you there,” he trails off as he walks closer to the loping man. Upon second glance, Bilbo doesn’t know how he could have missed him. His yellow, red, and blue tie-dye shirt was blinding from up close. Bilbo turns and gets an eyeful of the man’s painting. His canvas was a smattering of color and abstraction. Nothing on it looked remotely like a tree.

“Where are my manners? The name’s Brown. Radagast Brown. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. … uh.”

“Bilbo Baggins. Nice to meet you Mr. Brown.” Bilbo would shake his hand but they’re still covered in what looks to be oil paint.

“Oh please, Bilbo, Mr. Brown was my father. You must be who moved into Tom’s old place.” Bilbo raises an eyebrow and decides he wants to know more. “You’re friends with the previous owner?” 

“Oh yessir, Tom Bombadil and I go all the way back to high school. We were in a band together; toured for years.” Bilbo’s eyebrow raises further. His other joins in. He just shakes his head and admires the man’s painting.

“Why’d he move?” Bilbo asks, honestly curious. The house was gorgeous and obviously well lived in and cared for. To just leave it sounded unimaginable.

“Old Tom decided to retire to the Bahamas. Never was one for staying in one place.” And that’s that. Bilbo knows there’s probably more to it than that, but Mr. Brown has gone back to his painting, whistling along to whatever was playing on his Walkman. Bilbo was tickled by Radagast. He clearly existed on a different plane from the rest of them.

After his morning stroll, Bilbo would go about cleaning whatever mess Frodo had made the night before. Between the two of them, they fill up the house quite nicely. Bilbo’s room is nestled down the hallway on the main floor and he spends most of his time between that, the hearth room and kitchen. Frodo’s domain begins at the foot of the steps that lead up to his and the guest room. Bilbo marvels at what a whirlwind Frodo is. He was a one-man tornado. He’s pretty good about getting the boy to pick up after himself, but Frodo’s version of clean left a little to be desired. So, one particularly nice Wednesday afternoon, Bilbo opens the windows, turns up his music and sets to work vacuuming, dusting, swiffering, polishing and sneezing.

“Excuse me, sir.” Bilbo jumps at the interruption and turns to see Dís leaning over her wrap around porch leveling him with so much judgment.

“I’m going to have to ask you to follow Homeowner’s Association Bylaw 2B found on page six of the manual you received when you moved in; your devil’s music is affecting my delicate sensibilities.” Bilbo rolls his eyes and walks toward her. “You would like classic rock,” she teases as Bilbo leans out his window.

“Because you obviously have never listened to anything other than Kesha for the entire time I’ve known you, I’m going to ignore that slight,” he barks, laughing at her. Dís rolls her eyes. “Kesha is a goddess and should be revered as such.” Bilbo turns away and turns Geddy Lee’s voice up that much higher. He thinks he hears her laughter in the overtones of 2112.

On some days Bilbo would pull out his laptop and stare at blank text documents. He’d start to jot something down and then would delete the entire document. Seeing the near unbelievable change in Frodo within the past month had given him some courage to slowly ease back into his passion. But with each new thought came a deluge of frustration in the form of uncertainty. When it was only Bilbo, he had a clear sense of the voice he wrote with, a clear sense of who he was. Now, there’s Frodo. There are his newfound friends in the Durins and Bowmans: in all of his neighbors. There is so much change and toss up that Bilbo doesn’t know how to separate it from his work. All of the characters he dreams up bleed into one another; the battles against monsters feel too nice, too cheerful. Bilbo can’t bring himself to hate this kind of writer’s block. He hasn’t been this happy in years.

But he does it every single day. It will come back to him; he knows this isn’t something that has to be scary.

After closing his laptop, Bilbo will either go shopping or head over to Dís’.

On the days when he’s shopping, he still finds himself texting Dís. True to Thorin’s word, she had forgotten to ask after his phone number that first day. Thorin acts as a go between for a week before yelling at Dís to do her own dirty work. Bilbo has her number by the end of the night. It was nice to have numbers in his cellphone besides Gandalf’s. Dís and Bilbo text back and forth like teenagers, gossiping about celebrities and teasing each other mercilessly. The most recent topic of interest, to Bilbo’s dismay, was his love life or current lack thereof.

Halfway through September, he sits on the bottom of the steps leading to the second floor of Dís’ home. It’s Friday again, so she’s getting dinner started at twelve thirty in the afternoon.

“I assure you, Mrs. Durin, there’s no one I’m interested in.” The woman guffaws, head thrown back in her mirth. She turns to him from where she’s browning ground beef.

“Bullshit, Bilbo Baggins. I have it on good authority there’s someone there.” Bilbo’s ears tinge pink and when Dís eyes widen fractionally, Bilbo knows he’s caught.

“I knew it, of course there’s someone. And if my sources are correct-” “Who says that? Who even has sources?” Bilbo interrupts. He’d rather not divulge his crush just yet, but Bilbo knows he’s got it bad. It had only been a couple of weeks since he first laid eyes on Thorin, but the rapport they’ve built up feels decades old. They dance around each other and Bilbo finds it exhilarating. He knows he’s found something worthwhile in Thorin Durin.

Bilbo lets his head fall into his hands, feeling the heat radiating off of his cheeks and ears.

“Dís, please,” he moans, half miserable, half relieved to have someone to complain to about this thing he has with Thorin to. “Sweetness,” croons Dís, “I’ve known my brother my entire life. I know when he’s interested in someone.” Bilbo whips his head up and Dís studies him for a moment before laughter bursts out of her in peals. “Bilbo, you are redder than a tomato,” she breathes between laughs. “Did you not think he was interested in you?” Before Bilbo can answer the front door opens. Oh Mahal, the ground could have swallowed him whole and it wouldn’t have mattered because in walks their topic of conversation. Thorin wasn’t one for ostentation, but his clothes were carefully chosen. Dark blue slacks and a gray button down fit him well, and Bilbo despairs at the knowledge that Dís was watching him watch Thorin. The man hangs up his tweed jacket and scarf, and turns to greet them. He stops with one look at Dís and another at Bilbo. 

“Do I want to know?” Dís opens her mouth to respond, and Bilbo saves himself. “No you don’t, I promise you, you don’t-” He spins on his friend. “Dís, I will move away, spoil all of your jams and speak ill of you to all I meet,” Bilbo hisses out, face still flushed. She only cackles harder and Bilbo goes to leave the room. He doesn’t see the worried look Thorin shoots his way before turning to grab his arm. “Bilbo, is everything all right?” the man asks, concern outweighing confusion. Bilbo opens his mouth to respond; Dís bellows out another full body laugh, tears slipping out of her eyes. Bilbo throws her a look and about faces, pulling himself out of Thorin’s grasp. He thought he had friends.

An hour later sitting on his bed, reading to forget, he receives two texts.

**i’m sorry Bilbo, i shouldn’t have laughed at u. i promise not to tease u so badly. please don’t move away.**

**Is everything all right?**

Bilbo lets the first one alone. Dís can squirm for another couple of hours. He texts Thorin. Or, more accurately, he writes it all out, deletes it, re-writes it, attempts to smother himself with a pillow and then hits send.

**Yes.**

Maybe it was time to consider a life abroad, somewhere isolated. Like Antarctica where he could never embarrass himself because there were only penguins and scientists there.

His phone starts to vibrate. When it doesn’t stop, his stomach sinks. Thorin’s calling. He makes the decision to swallow his fear and pick up the phone. He clears his throat and hits accept. 

“Hello?”

“That didn’t sound like a very convincing ‘yes’,” Thorin says, his voice dipping low. If Bilbo’s laugh is a little strangled, he hopes it doesn’t come across as such. “That was a text, Thorin.” “I don’t stand corrected.” Mahal, he was smiling. There’s a lull where Bilbo doesn’t know what to say. Thorin beats him to it to fill it. 

“Did Dís say something-” “NO. Well, yes, but it’s okay. She’s in the doghouse, but it’s okay.” Thorin hums into the receiver and Bilbo shivers.

“You’re sure.” 

“Yes, Thorin.”

“See, that sounded convincing,” Thorin grumbles. Bilbo smiles a little more and they lapse into silence. He can’t for the life of him think of anything to say. Thorin doesn’t hang up; they just sit there in each other’s quiet company for a couple of minutes. Bilbo breaks it with laughter.

“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. Thank you for calling, Thorin.” Bilbo leans back on his bed and stares at the ceiling. “You’re welcome, Bilbo. Dís wanted me to tell you that she’s very sorry.”

“She can tell that to me herself,” Bilbo says, snickering. “Besides, I’d be a terrible friend if I let her get away with everything all the time.” Thorin hums again and Bilbo closes his eyes.

“Tell me about your day.” Thorin does and it’s as easy as that. Half an hour later Bilbo feels better, less rustled at the moment. He knows he’ll eventually have to deal with the fact that he likes Thorin. Like, like-likes the man.

But for right now, he doesn’t. So, he says good-bye like a normal human being does and hangs up. Bilbo grabs his notebook and starts writing.

 

* * *

 

Time quickly passes and the eve of Frodo’s birthday is upon them. Dís had wasted no effort in bringing the burrow together. They blocked off the road and set up tables and chairs down the center of it. Plate upon plate of food piles up and Bilbo finds himself pushed to the sidelines as the children and teenagers race around each other to find seats. He stumbles slightly, but is righted by a steady hand on his back. Thorin had to have been doing it on purpose. The man would just appear suddenly, lightly touching him, steadying him. It was driving Bilbo mad. Thorin smiles and is off to talk to Balin and Bard about Aulë knows what. Bilbo feels eyes on him and does not rise to Dís’ bait. Since the incident, Dís had done her teasing from a distance and mostly conspicuously. It didn’t stop Bilbo from grinding his teeth and not so secretly flipping her off. Her laugh bounces around the street and Bilbo sits himself next to Dwalin, already picking away at his food.

“I don’t know how you put up with her,” Bilbo says viciously serving himself some mashed potatoes. “Who, Dís?” Dwalin asks, tearing into a chicken leg. “She’s a lot.” Bilbo deflates and sinks into his chair. Dwalin pats Bilbo’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t have her any other way.” Bilbo huffs and a small smile brightens his face. “You’re probably right.”

The evening gives way to night and Gandalf and Radagast have promised them a small fireworks display. It’s a sight to see the two work together and Bilbo can’t help but pull Frodo closer to him as they sit in anticipation on their front yard. Dís and Thorin are further behind them, Fíli and Kíli drifting between them and Bilbo. Frodo looks up at Bilbo and says, not so quietly, “Happy birthday, Uncle.” Bilbo grimaces slightly and holds him closer. 

“Happy birthday to you too, Frodo.” It’s Dís who grabs his shoulder and nails him with a glare. 

“Bilbo, is there something you feel like sharing with the class? Something that, say, we should’ve found out maybe around the time we found out when Frodo’s birthday was?” Before he can answer, Thorin is pulling Dís away, mumbling about obnoxious busybodies. He shoos her away, and she is off grumbling, saying something about bitching to Dwalin.

“You know that’s going to cost you,” Bilbo mutters conspiratorially to Thorin. Thorin looks at him out of the corner of his eyes and shrugs. They’re close enough they could be rubbing shoulders. “Frodo, how old are you?” Thorin asks, looking out at Bain as he helps Radagast set up something.

“I am nine years old at midnight!” Frodo answers loudly, still thrilled about being another year older. “Nine! A fine age. How old is your uncle turning, then?” Thorin turns, smiling at Bilbo. Frodo puffs at the compliment and answers. “Uncle’s thirty… thirty-” Bilbo leans down as Frodo asks him in a whisper, “Uncle, how old are you?” Bilbo whispers back. “Uncle is thirty-six tonight!” Thorin smiles, benignly. Frodo moves to cup his hands around Thorin’s ear. Bilbo pretends not to hear him ask the man’s age.

“Uncle, Thorin is forty-one! That means he’s old,” Frodo says dragging out the ‘o’. Thorin swats at the boy and just like that Frodo is giggling as he runs away, to the safety that is Fíli and Sigrid.

Bilbo leans back in the grass and looks up at the first couple of stars as they shine above him. He feels rather than sees Thorin settle next to him, looking up at the sky.

“He’s just as bad as Dís.”

Thorin balks and Bilbo hears the smile in his voice when he says, “We can only hope that he turns out better.” The next moment, the sky lights up with red sparks. The crowd cheers as the spectacle begins. Bilbo finds himself going between watching Thorin, Frodo and the fireworks. He closes his eyes a second and then opens them wide. The sky is painted white. Bilbo smiles.

 

* * *

 

Not everything is easy. Only days after their shared birthday, Frodo won’t come out of his room. Bilbo feels helpless; he doesn’t want to scare his nephew by bursting in, but he can’t let him go through his pain alone. Bilbo slides down the door to Frodo’s room and sits contemplating for a moment.

“Frodo, did I ever tell you the story of the Troll King?” He hears the boy moving around the room, feels the steps that reverberate through the floor. It’s Saturday and they could be outside right now, enjoying the backyard and the small sandbox Bilbo and Balin had put together as a gift to Frodo. But because life is so, so cruel and uncaring, Bilbo has to convince his nephew that it’ll be okay even if his parents are never coming back. Bilbo presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees phosphenes. He takes a deep breath.

“Once upon a time,” Bilbo starts. He winds a tale of a man turned troll by his greed and hate. Time slips by as he talks about the friends the man meets while getting used to being a troll. Half an hour has gone by before Bilbo feels the weight against his back as Frodo leans against the door.

“He found he couldn’t hate these friends of his. They might’ve been ugly and scary, but they were kind when no one else was. They gave him a second chance when his old friends gave him none.” Bilbo feels his phone vibrate. He slips it out of his pants pocket and taps on the glowing notification.

**kíli’s wondering where frodo is. U boys skip town??**

“What happened to his parents?” Frodo asks through the door. Bilbo stops typing back the response and pockets his phone. This was something Bilbo wants to get right with Frodo. He wants to make sure the nine year old knows.

“His parents continue to love him for the rest of their lives. They never stopped loving him.” Bilbo leans away from the door. Frodo doesn’t say anything, but Bilbo hears him breathing. He makes a decision and opens the door slowly. Frodo’s slumped in the doorway. Bilbo pulls him into his lap and they stay like that for a long time. Bilbo studies the way Frodo’s hair is beginning to curl from its length. The boy’s nails are nibbled short; Bilbo doesn’t know if it’s habit or something worse caused by anxiety. He cocoons Frodo with his limbs and rests his chin on the boy’s head.

Eventually, Bilbo pulls his phone back out.

“Uh-oh,” he says at all of the messages he has from Dís. Frodo looks at him with red rimmed eyes and he hugs him close as he dials her. She picks up on the first ring. 

“Bilbo, you didn’t actually skip-" 

“No, Dís, we didn’t move away. We’ll have to see Kíli and you all another day. Frodo and I are having our own slumber party today,” Bilbo nuzzles the boy’s head as he hears Dís sigh.

“Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” Dís. Bilbo didn’t know how he lucked out in having a next-door neighbor like her. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He hangs up and wraps both arms around Frodo.

“What do you say you and I build the best fort this town’s ever seen?”

Two hours later finds Bilbo on his stomach underneath three sheets that have been draped over the two couches in the hearth room.

The Black Cauldron buzzes on their television like older animations do, and Frodo pays rapt attention to it like he’s memorizing every detail. The pizza they ordered arrives and they eat. As the movie’s finishing, there’s a knock at the door. Bilbo straightens up and Frodo is set on putting in another movie. As the boy fiddles with the DVD player, Bilbo walks to the front door.

He looks through the peephole and doesn’t see anyone. Before he can turn away he hears knocking again. He opens the door to Kíli standing in front of him holding a piece of paper. “I drew this for Frodo so he feels better, and I wanted to give it to him, so here you go. I have to go eat dinner now, but I’ll see you guys tomorrow, bye!” Bilbo barely has a chance to say thank you before the boy is bounding away. He closes the door and examines the gift. It’s a drawing of Frodo and Kíli and just about everyone else living within a thousand foot radius of them. The stick people are labeled and Bilbo feels a little fuzzy.

He walks back into the hearth room where An American Tail has started playing. He hands the paper to Frodo and tells him who it’s from. Frodo treats the paper reverently and sets it on the table next to a stack of his favorite books. Bilbo soothes the boy’s arm and promises to get him a frame for it. They fall asleep underneath their makeshift fort, Bilbo with an arm around his nephew.


	3. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are lost, found, and set into motion.

With the school year in full swing, Bilbo is thankful Frodo finds comfort in his homework. The boy had always been studious, and it was a distraction Frodo worked well with. During the week they had a pretty strict routine: up at six, ready to go by seven, on the school bus with Kíli, Bain and Tilda by seven o’ eight, school from seven-thirty to two thirty, arrive home a little before three o’clock, homework until four, chores and other odd jobs until five, dinner at six, and then piano practice for another thirty minutes or so. Bedtime was nine. Rinse and repeat Monday through Thursday. But Fridays for the Bagginses had turned into something special.

Dís wasn’t kidding when she had said that day of the week was not to be trifled with. They all (Bard and his children, Radagast, Dwalin, all of the Durins, Bilbo and Frodo) gathered in her dining room, each family bringing a medley of side dishes and their company. They sat and ate and spoke and laughed and Bilbo was surprised how quickly he came to crave Friday evenings.

It’s on one such evening a week into October that Bilbo realizes he can’t find Frodo. The lad was all of nine years old and Bilbo was sure he had been in the backyard last he checked. Bilbo goes through the house, calling the boy’s name until he realizes Frodo isn’t there. He tries to remember what time it was when he checked on him last. The clawing feeling begins in his throat. The cool air outside suddenly feels biting. He will not let his heartbeat ratchet up just yet. Bilbo pulls on his jacket and is out the front door, making a beeline for Dís’.

He knocks on her door purposely thinking happy thoughts. It wouldn’t help any if he lost his cool.

“Bilbo, you’re early!” “Dís-” She must hear something in his voice because he doesn’t have to say another word; Dís is standing in front of him, eyes serious, mouth pulled in a tight frown. “I can’t find Frodo. Is he around?” Dís pivots on one foot and calls for Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo follows her inside and closes the door behind him. The boys come clambering down the stairs into the foyer. “Have either of you seen Frodo today?”

“A little bit earlier, right after school. He was in the backyard chasing after some bugs.” Bilbo nods, remembering that. “Anything else?” “No, said goodbye to him and he went on his way.” “Did he say anything?” “No, he was just playing,” Kíli says, “Can you not find him?”

Before Bilbo can answer, the door is opening again and Thorin and Dwalin come in, back from a consultation by the looks of their suits. Dís nods her head out of the back door and looks pointedly at her sons. “Take a look around the trails back there, ring me if you find him, hmm?” The two nod in unison and are off in a blink.

“Everything okay, Dís?” Bilbo clenches his jaw. He knows they mean well, but he feels like everyone moment spent explaining the situation was another moment lost. Bilbo feels like his mental state is teetering on the edge of a soaring precipice. One slight push and he’ll be gone.

“Bilbo can’t find Frodo.” And then Dís is pulling out her cellphone and shooting off messages faster than Bilbo’s eyes can keep up with. “I’ve gotten a hold of Radagast. He’s out at the moment; he’ll sweep the surrounding neighborhoods. The Ris said they’d keep an eye out. Ah, this is Bard-” She cuts herself off as she answers the phone. She steps into the front room as Bilbo pulls out his phone and shoots Gandalf a text. The older man lived an hour or so away, but he figured all bases covered was the way to go. When he looks up, Dwalin’s still in the room, but he’s also on the phone talking to someone in hushed tones.

Bilbo can’t keep still any longer. But before he can take a step, Thorin reappears in the doorway leading upstairs, dressed down and severe set to his jaw.

“Let’s go,” he says glancing at Bilbo. Thorin hands him a flashlight and crosses the room. He opens the door and Bilbo follows quickly behind him, anxious to do something, anything. The sun has set maybe ten minutes ago, encasing the burrow in a golden-purple hue. They walk in tandem for the first few roads, using the fading light and calling Frodo’s name. Bilbo is tense. It’s getting worse with each passing minute. He checks his phone, constantly refreshing his inbox until he is about ready to vibrate out of his skin.

“We’ll find him.” Thorin is walking in front of him; Bilbo can’t see what kind of look the man has on his face. He nods, not trusting his voice.

They case the main road, everyone’s backyards and further down into the next couple of neighborhoods. They knock on a couple of doors, ask the same questions and receive the same answers. Bilbo is fine with letting Thorin talk. He doubts he’d be able to hold it together at this point.

It’s pushing nine before they decide to regroup with Dís and the others. The sun has been down for hours now. Bilbo is visibly upset. He knows this and sniffs. Scrubbing at his face in embarrassment, he tries to keep pace with Thorin. He almost jumps at the hand that grabs for his own. Thorin doesn’t look at him, doesn’t embarrass him.

“We’ll find him, Bilbo.” His platitude doesn’t feel empty. Bilbo nods and mutters a soft, “We will.” Thorin holds his hand as they walk back. Before they’ve gone a block, Bilbo’s phone is ringing. It’s Dís. He can feel his pulse in his ears.

“Hello?”

“We’ve got him, Bilbo. Gandalf’s friends had him.” Bilbo almost collapses with relief. The tourniquet on his heart loosens. All bases covered was the way to go.

“Oh thank Aulë! Thank you, Dís. Thorin and I are headed back now,” Bilbo whispers out, the energy drained from him. Bilbo hangs up. Thorin’s grip tightens on his slightly and Bilbo laughs a little wetly.

“He’s all I’ve got left,” is all Bilbo says. Thorin nods. They stay still for a moment longer.

“Let’s go back,” Thorin urges mildly. Bilbo wipes his face and they walk hand in hand. The knowledge that Frodo is safe makes Bilbo a little weak at the knees. Mahal, what would he have done if they hadn’t found him? Bilbo tries to not go down that path in his head. He focuses on Thorin’s hand. He breathes in time with his footsteps.

They reach Dís’ house and Thorin lets go of his hand as Bilbo bounds up the steps and jerks the front door open. He hardly registers familiar and unfamiliar faces in the foyer and kitchen. He finds Frodo’s. The boy is sat on the couch in the front room, looking at the ground.

“Oh Frodo,” Bilbo moves quickly and gathers him up in his arms. In moments, the boy is coming apart, crying loudly.

“Hush, it’s okay, you’re okay, hush, sweetheart,” Bilbo murmurs into his hair as he does his best to calm his nephew down. He picks him up and adjusts him in his lap. He steels himself in that moment; he needed to be strong for Frodo. No tears, not yet.

Dís, Aulë bless her, clears the room. Has Gandalf and his friend who found Frodo corralled into the front room, and the others in the hearth room. Thorin sits down across from Bilbo and smiles at him tiredly. It takes all of Bilbo’s energy to smile back. He sinks into the couch a little further before looking up to Gandalf and a teenager that the older man nudges forward.

“This is Legolas, Bilbo. His father and I are colleagues. Legolas and his friends were the ones who found Frodo.” Gandalf pushes the young man forward. The boy’s long blonde hair was held back in a braid and he looked all of what must’ve been his sixteen years. He smiles benignly, as if he’s not sure if he should be smiling.

“Thank you, thank you, Legolas. I am in your debt.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” Legolas responds, looking a little unsure. Bilbo pats his cheek and Legolas squirms. It makes Bilbo huff out a laugh.

“If my arms weren’t full, you’d be dealing with a hug. Be grateful.” Legolas smiles then. He steps back and Gandalf clears his throat. Everyone turns to him.

“Let’s get you home, boy. I’m sure your father is wondering where I whisked you off to,” Gandalf says lightly. Bilbo wants to laugh. He was all worked up not knowing where Frodo was, and Gandalf had ‘whisked’ Legolas away? He thinks slowly and figures it probably doesn't feel the same when it’s a teenager you can’t find for a few hours. As they leave, so do the others who had joined the search: Bard, the Ri brothers that lived two streets down, Dwalin and Radagast bid their farewells and good nights.

Frodo breathes deeply from his place on the couch, passed out. Bilbo soothes his back and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, Thorin is standing in front of him. Thorin, in his ratty jeans and RATM hoodie, looks down at him and maybe Bilbo does laugh this time. He doesn’t really know, feels all out of sorts.

“Let’s get you two in a proper bed.” He holds out his hand to Bilbo and helps him stand up. He then picks up Frodo, careful to keep him from waking. He puts a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and guides him toward the steps. He heads up first and leads the man to the last door on the right of the hallway.

The room is Spartan, but worn. The bed takes up most of the space, and Bilbo gladly takes off his jacket and shoes, readying himself. Thorin lies Frodo down in the center of the bed and tucks the dark covers around the boy. He turns to Bilbo. “Try to get some sleep. He’s safe.” Bilbo had been doing so well, keeping his façade neutral and calm, and all it takes is Thorin’s gentle words and he’s falling to pieces. Bilbo is wrapped in the man’s embrace as he cries quietly.

“I know, he’s- I know. It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” Bilbo mutters wretchedly. Thorin murmurs something Bilbo doesn’t understand and holds him tightly. Bilbo clutches at Thorin and buries his face in the man’s chest.

“Thank you,” Bilbo whispers as he leans into him.

“You’re welcome.” It feels so underwhelming of an exchange, and Bilbo can’t help but chuff at it. They part slightly, Thorin still having a hold on him. He walks them toward the bed and helps Bilbo get situated. Flattening out the comforter, Thorin then rests a hand on Bilbo’s cheek, thumb brushing it slightly.

“We’re going to have to talk about this, you know,” Bilbo points out, holding Thorin’s gaze.

“Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” Bilbo agrees, as Thorin kisses his forehead. He leaves quietly and Bilbo turns to his nephew, utterly spent. 

* * *

 As it turns out, they don’t talk about it tomorrow. Bilbo wakes up in a tizzy and relaxes into the covers as he finds Frodo still sleeping soundly next to him. He rolls to his side and finds a note on the bedside table. Thorin’s handwriting is neat and looping and Bilbo appreciates the message telling him that everyone would be out and about by the time he woke up.

The next two weeks are much of the same, of people being busy and playing phone and note tag with Thorin.

Dís pulls him aside during that time and they talk about Frodo, about Bilbo’s fears concerning him and his hopes. Dís listens openly and Bilbo is keenly aware of how grateful he is for her support and friendship. Things settle again, and Bilbo is grateful for it.

A week before Halloween, however, Bilbo receives a letter in the mail. It’s a summons from Hobbiton. He grimaces at the first ideas that pop into his head: some one else he knows has died or jury duty. Neither was something he particularly wanted to deal with. He quickly opens the letter and his eyes widen.

They had found a will.

Bilbo falls into the chair nearest him and can’t quite hear much besides a low ringing in his ears. Frodo and Kíli run past him, in from the backyard, headed toward Frodo’s room. Kíli stops when he sees Bilbo.

“Are you okay, Mr. Boggins? You look a little,” Kíli can’t think of the word, so he mimes puking. ‘What a pleasant image,’ Bilbo thinks magnanimously.

“I’m fine, Kíli, thank you for asking. Actually I’m going to talk to your mom for a bit. Stay inside until I’m back, okay?” Bilbo asks, standing up and steadying himself. Kíli salutes him and runs back after Frodo. Bilbo pulls on his jacket and heads out to Dís’. He hardly knocks as he focuses on the paper in his hands. Dís is talking to someone in the living room, but stops when she hears Bilbo come in.

“Speak of the devil. Bilbo, what can I do for you?” She asks, only putting a little bit of a show on. The man standing opposite her looks a lot like Fíli with his blonde hair and light blue eyes. Bilbo blanches.

“I’m sorry, Dís, I didn’t mean to interrupt-” “No, no, no, we were just talking about you. Bilbo, let me introduce you to my brother Frerin.” Bilbo gets why he looks familiar and not at the same time. He goes to shake the man’s hand and smiles weakly. Not a single Durin had let him down in the realm of handshakes.

“Pleasure to meet you, Frerin,” Bilbo says, pocketing the letter. The three of them sit in the room and Bilbo is, quite frankly put, charmed. Frerin is a master storyteller and he loosens up as he listens to the man talk about his most recent jaunt through a mountain range a few hundred miles away.

“Bilbo, would you stay for dinner tonight?” Bilbo is pulled back to reality hard at the offer. He had things to do.

“Dís, I would love to, but I’m afraid I have to be headed back to Hobbiton. I need to leave tonight. That was the reason I came over in the first place. Could you watch Frodo for a long weekend?” Dís looks at him like she’s seeing him for the first time.

“Is everything okay?” Bilbo nods.

“It will be. I…” Bilbo thinks about lying. He reasons it wouldn’t hurt them any. But one look at Dís and her kind brother and he folds. “They found Frodo’s parent’s will.” Dís doesn’t say anything, but nods.

“I can’t bring him with me just put him through that process all over again. He’s just started to behave the way any other nine year old should. If it’s not too much to ask-” Frerin interrupts him then. “Why, Bilbo Baggins, who do you take us Durins for? I’ve got enough tales to keep the lad entertained for weeks. Between me and my siblings, I think we can handle another little one underfoot.” Bilbo is near blinded by Frerin’s smile and he nods and stands up. As he bids his farewells, the front door opens and in walks Thorin.

Bilbo doesn’t freeze. He doesn’t do anything near as jarring as the way he feels about seeing Thorin. He smiles at the man and Thorin greets him with a soft, “Bilbo.” He nods at him and walks up.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay, have to be off. I’ll text you.” Thorin looks at him, opens his mouth to say something and snaps it shut.

With a nod, Bilbo is out the door and too busy to worry about anything else but what could possibly be waiting for him in Hobbiton.

He’s back inside his house and yelling for Kíli and Frodo in moments. The boys appear before him in seconds.

“Frodo, do you want to spend the night with Kíli tonight?” The boys’ faces light up like stars. “If you’re good, maybe even the entire weekend.” They babble with one another as Bilbo makes for his own room. He packs quickly and lightly. He double checks the train times on his phone and is relieved to find he has more than an hour to catch the next one. Thinking on it more, he grabs the briefcase containing all of the other documents he had accumulated from his previous contact with his late cousins’ lawyer. He feels the fight leave him in that moment. He doesn’t want to go back into this. He wants to move on, to remember Primula and Drogo in happier contexts. He squares his shoulders after another moment and walks back to the front room, only to find Thorin kneeling down next to Frodo and smiling as the boy told him of his adventures that day. Thorin hears him approach and turns his smile to Bilbo.

“I am here to collect a couple of boys who will be spending the weekend at my home…” he says as he stands up straight. Frodo looks like he’s going to pass out he’s so excited. Bilbo shakes his head and Frodo can hardly keep still. His Power Rangers backpack is near bursting and Kíli jostling him can’t help much. Thorin arches an eyebrow and gestures to his home. The boys nearly trample each other to get past him and Bilbo chuckles as he watches the two race to Dís’ front door.

“…which was only partially true,” Thorin says turning to face Bilbo. He pins him with a serious look and reaches out. Bilbo feels grounded at his touch. Thorin has a hand on his shoulder and it’s keeping Bilbo from losing his mind.

“Dís told me why you’re headed back. Can I do anything?”

“Keep Frodo distracted? I’ll call him when I get there, but I don’t think it’s best he knows why I’m gone.” Thorin agrees. “With Frerin home, that shouldn’t be too much of a trouble.” Bilbo quips a smile at that. “You never told me your wildman brother was such a delightful man,” Bilbo smiles at Thorin’s near full body twitch. The hand on his shoulder slides up, just that much closer to his neck and Bilbo remembers himself.

He steps away, under the ruse of picking up his bag and briefcase. He couldn’t deal with whatever was waiting for him in Hobbiton and Thorin at the same time. It would have to wait.

“I have to be going if I want to catch my train,” he says. He’d rather not go back to Hobbiton. He’d rather do anything than go back right now. But he has to, for his family’s sake. Thorin looks at him and Bilbo doesn’t have the energy to explain these emotions to him.

“Let me give you a ride.”

Bilbo really looks at him then. Thorin is smiling, eyes a little sad, mouth a little lopsided. Bilbo nods.

“I would appreciate that.”

The trip is only twenty-five minutes long. Nothing tedious. Bilbo looks out of the window as the trees pass and finds the colors more vibrant than he anticipated. He turns to look at Thorin and the man glances at him once before his eyes return to the road. He keeps one arm rested on the console between the two of them. Bilbo is tempted to grab his hand, feel the warmth of another seep into his skin. He looks back out the window, crossing his arms both happy and miserable. As they park, Bilbo watches people rush past desperate to make their train on time. He wonders about those people. How do they deal with death? Are their parents still alive? Aulë, he has to stop down that line of thinking. It just spirals and doesn’t stop after a certain point. Thorin is a silent presence beside him for the next ten minutes as he buys his ticket. It’s nice having him there as a buffer to the rest of the world.

It comes time for them to part. Before Bilbo can say anything, Thorin gently pulls him close and kisses his temple. Bilbo’s dulled world explodes in a myriad of color and sound in that instant.

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

And then he turns his back and heads out the way they had come in.

Bilbo sways a bit and then turns, facing the way he has to go. He finds it decidedly less dismal.

A few minutes more and he’s settled into his window seat on the train. He pulls out his phone and is surprised at the number of texts he’s received. Dís is a bit of a busy body. The bulk of them were supportive words. Promises to keep an eye on Frodo, things of that nature.

He scrolls through and almost misses Thorin’s.

**When you get back, let’s talk.**

Bilbo feels warmth spread through him from the tips of his ears to the bottoms of his toes. He doesn't know how to verbalize his feelings, so he doesn’t. He has time to figure that out.

The train ride is three and a half hours. By the time he arrives, Bilbo’s legs are stiff with disuse and all he wants is to be home. He stops then. Home isn’t Hobbiton; it hasn’t been for quite some time. Nor is it the apartment he’d lived in for near fifteen years before Frodo came into his life. No, home is next door to Dís and Thorin and Fíli and Kíli. It’s under makeshift sheet forts next to Frodo. It’s down the street from Bard and his brood.

Bilbo straightens his back and upper lip. He was going to face this head on and not look back because he wanted to be home. And he’d be damned if anything kept that from him.

* * *

 Three days later, Bilbo is worn thin, but proud. Lobelia is the scum of the earth, but he’s vindicated in that notion when, after a day and half long deliberation, the late Baggins’ lawyer decides the will that was found was to be honored as legitimate. It didn’t change much, all things considered. It just shoved Lobelia out of the picture as having a claim on anything that rightfully belonged to Frodo. 

And just like that, a weight lifts off of Bilbo’s back. He signs what he needs to, shakes hands with all those present, Lobelia included, and leaves. Walking past the main street of Hobbiton, one can see for miles the rolling hills that Bilbo grew up in and around. He has an hour before his train leaves, and he decides to do right by his parents. Their graves hadn’t been extravagant, nothing noticeable, but Bilbo knows how to find them by heart. He smiles and tells them about Frodo and Dís and Thorin and everyone else. He cries when he tells them about Primula and Drogo, but he feels better for it. He can’t bring himself to visit Frodo’s parents’ graves. He wouldn’t make his ride home.

Back on the train, flying through countryside and cityscape alike, Bilbo dozes. He knows he should text someone, let them know he was on his way back, but he finds solace in being unknown in an ocean of strangers. Besides he only has two percent of his battery left.

As he steps off of the train and on to the platform, he adjusts his bag and merges into the mob. He moves with the crowd for a minute before his eyes catch on a familiar dark blue overcoat. He stills. Thorin is tapping on his phone leaning against one of the many pillars lined through the station, looking absorbed. Bilbo watches him for a moment longer before he steps toward him. Thorin doesn’t notice him come to stand next to him, and Bilbo can’t stop the smile that finds its home on his face if he tried.

“My phone died an hour ago,” Bilbo says, and Thorin turns to him so fast, his hair whips them both in the face. They stand there a moment, perfectly still, before Bilbo snorts.

“Funny meeting you here,” he says as he leans into Thorin’s space like he had the night they lost and found Frodo. Thorin smiles broadly and bows his head closer to him.

“Glad to have you back,” he mumbles and then straightens, taking Bilbo’s bag from him. “Frodo will be too.”

They walk back to Thorin’s Jeep side by side. Bilbo examines the man beside him as they traverse the crowds. He doesn’t break his stride as he grabs Thorin’s hand and looks forward. He doesn’t see his reaction. But when the taller man’s fingers slot between his, Bilbo glances at him and Thorin’s smiling, cheeks a little more red than before.

They part when they climb inside the car. Thorin settles after buckling and rests his arm on the console again. Bilbo tentatively reaches for his hand. It’s a quiet drive. Thorin navigates his way home with one hand on the wheel, one hand in Bilbo’s. His thumb traces long lines against Bilbo’s skin.

When they arrive home, Frodo leaps into Bilbo’s arms and the two catch up. Frerin has Fíli in a headlock but reneges the nuggie he was giving the teen to smile at Bilbo and pin Thorin with a look. It’s gone in a flash as he turns back to his nephew. Dís and Dwalin prepare dinner for the eight of them.

Frodo regales Bilbo with all of the games that he and Kíli and Legolas played. Bilbo is only a little surprised at the mention of the older boy. Dís laughs and explains, “Fíli has classes with Legolas at school, and since last time,” she’s careful not to explicitly say what she means there, “Legolas shows up to do homework and hang out. He’s nice to have around.” Kíli protests from the living room. Dís laughs and whispers conspiratorially to Bilbo about her youngest having a crush.

After dinner, when the boys are settling down and the TV’s on low, Bilbo wanders on to the front porch. He looks and looks out at the homes that line the road; he smiles thinking of the people they house. He’s sat there for minutes before the light flickers on above him. Thorin steps out onto the porch carrying a blanket. Bilbo moves over so there’s room for the two of them on the couch. Thorin covers them with the blanket and Bilbo shivers at the warmth.

They sit quietly, knees brushing against one another’s.

“Feel like having that talk yet?” Bilbo asks, looking up to Thorin.

Thorin pulls him close.

They kiss and it’s soft and nothing like what Bilbo expects. But he has no complaints when they surface for air and Thorin’s eyes are blown wide and he’s holding Bilbo like he’s precious.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bilbo murmurs as Thorin laughs loudly. He wraps an arm around Bilbo. They sit out there for hours.


	4. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of growing friendships, being thankful and passing the holiday torch.

Legolas becomes quick friends with Fíli and the two come over to watch Frodo when Bilbo has to run errands sometimes. Kíli is also, naturally, in tow. On any given weekday, Bilbo is entertaining one to four boys. He finds it endlessly entertaining how the four bully each other in camaraderie.

Eventually, Legolas becomes like another fixture at Bilbo’s house. The skinny blond had an interest in English beyond that of your average high schooler, and he and Bilbo get on famously. 

Between letting Frodo play with and braid his hair and Bilbo talking to him about favorite literature that they shared, Bilbo found the calm teen talkative and open. So he’s surprised as he’s sweeping the front porch one day to see Legolas drive up and look fit to scream. Bilbo sets aside his broom and they stay on his porch as Legolas talks about his dad, Thranduil. The man was infuriating on a good day was what Bilbo gathered from their conversation. Legolas quiets then.

“I know you and Thorin are a thing, so I don’t talk about where I go when I leave home.” Bilbo does not like that one bit.

“Legolas, regardless of who I’m- I’m with, you shouldn’t leave your father in the gray! He must be worried,” Bilbo insists.

“Dad and Thorin hate each other.” Bilbo blinks. He didn’t know that.

“Why?” he asks, honestly curious.

“They just do, and it’s stupid.” Bilbo grunts in agreement, but that didn’t answer his question. He decides to let it go for now. The two of them sit side by side on the concrete of the steps that lead down to Bilbo’s driveway. The leaves are almost entirely gone at this point; sad piles of life that were once stunning are nearly all that are left. A few stubborn leaves hang on at the tips of the branches above them. Bilbo doesn’t press the teen, but he does make note to corner Thorin about Thranduil sometime soon.

Kíli runs up then, appearing as if from thin air. The boy throws a stick at Legolas. The teen catches it just before it brains him and looks ready to kill. “Avast,” Kíli says, holding his own stick. He slips into a fighting stance and Bilbo is about ready to intervene when Legolas stands up, holding his own stick.

“Today is the day that I end you, Kíli Durin,” Legolas growls and the two do battle. Bilbo was worried that the elder would actually hurt Kíli, but at the sound of wood clashing and the younger yipping at being smacked lightly, Bilbo relaxes. Legolas’ shoulders don’t hold the same weight they did minutes ago. Kíli might not be entirely obnoxious. It’s then the boy smacks Legolas in the face on what is clearly accident and the teen roars at him. Bilbo stifles a laugh as the pale Kíli runs for dear life. The boy misses the shadow of a smile that passes over Legolas’ lips. 

Legolas has proven to be good with just about everyone he encounters, including semi-obnoxious ten year olds. Bilbo is glad to have him around.

* * *

As November stretches on, Bilbo finds himself being the host for Thanksgiving. It all starts with a question. They are sat in the library, Bilbo reading and Frodo gluing pieces of paper together to make a many-feathered turkey. “Can we have Fíli and Kíli and Legolas and Bain and Tilda over?” the boy asks, distracted with his project. Bilbo pauses and looks up at his nephew from his place on the love seat. “I don’t see why not.” 

And the next thing he knows, there’s a turkey or two in his oven, Dwalin and Radagast are helping him set the table for at least fifteen people and Gandalf is just arriving, bringing a gust of the chilly November air in with him.

Legolas had stopped by to wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving and let Frodo climb over him. As Bilbo sees the teen to his car on the way out, he spies Kíli glaring at them from the window. The boy’s face is pressed up against the window and Bilbo can’t help but to laugh. Legolas turns and takes one look at the window. Kíli topples over, surprised at being caught and the teenager laughs.

“Give him a few years, he’ll grow out of it.” Legolas just smiles. Bilbo gives him a brief hug that has him squirming to break away. 

“Say hello to your dad for me,” Bilbo orders. Legolas nods, and in the next moment he’s pulling out of his (now) designated spot on the road next to Bilbo’s house. Bilbo watches as the car disappears from view and turns back to the house. It glows with warmth and the people within.

Bilbo rejoins the party and finds Frerin sitting in the front room, speaking to Thorin in rumbles. It was something the Durin men seemed to have a penchant for. He stops himself from interrupting them and moves past to take his seat across from Dís and Dwalin in the hearth room. The bald man has an arm slung across Dís' shoulders. Bilbo smirks at Dís and she ignores him. But he spies the smile on her lips and the rosiness in her cheeks. Fíli sits next to him, looking more grossed out than anything, but Bilbo knows the discomfort might be something else. He distracts the teen with questions about school and girls. They all share a laugh at his expense, but it lightens the mood that much more.

Frerin and Thorin now stand in the doorway of the kitchen and they don’t look as thunderous as before. Bilbo will ask Thorin what they were talking about but not quite yet. He is still pleasantly full from dinner and there’s yet a piece of pumpkin pie with his name on it.

At the end of the night, after the kids are corralled with a movie at Dís’ and his friends have said their goodbyes, Bilbo does the dishes. The kitchen is bathed in a soft blue and he doesn’t mind the easy quiet that folds in around him. He had argued with Dís half the night about helping clean up, but she had been easy to distract with Dwalin so close.

So, he scrubs another plate and doesn't find himself upset at his situation. It had been an hour or so since everyone had left, but his home still holds the warmth of all the bodies that had been huddled on the main floor. He’s a little surprised to hear his doorbell ring, then. But he doesn’t think anything of it as he shakes off his hands and wipes them down with a rag. He goes through the living room, kicking a couple of pillows to the side and pads to the front door.

He opens the door and is greeted by a breath-stealing rush of cold air and Thorin.

The man is inside in a blink and has Bilbo crowded against the table a few feet from the door. His fingers are red from the cold, and Bilbo shivers as they encapsulate his face.

“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Durin?” Bilbo chuckles as he’s pulled into a kiss. He keeps pace with Thorin and in minutes they’re both breathing hard.

Bilbo pulls away and wraps his arms around the man.

“I just received the talk as a forty plus year old man from my little sister.” Bilbo is not expecting the response, and an amazed guffaw erupts from him. Thorin’s mouth is pulled taut at its corners and that only makes him laugh harder. “As in, the talk? Oh Mahal, Thorin, tell me everything.” Bilbo finds kissing difficult when giggles won’t stop bubbling out of him. But Thorin is determined to distract him.

“I’d rather not live through that experience again,” Thorin says. They move from the foyer to the hearth room where the fire in the fireplace is still toiling away. Thorin stumbles into the couch and a moment later Bilbo joins him not quite caring the position they’re in.

It’s warm and lazy and Bilbo feels cushioned.

“Please?” Bilbo asks, looking up at Thorin through half lidded eyes. Thorin suddenly goes a stunning shade of red and Bilbo laughs more. He covers his ruddy face with two hands and turns away from him. Bilbo’s unbridled glee under control, he kisses Thorin’s temple and rolls off of him to be stuck between the back of the couch and Thorin.

“She said no one would be able to find the body if I hurt you.” Bilbo feels like he’s on top of a rollercoaster, just at the cusp before shooting down to Earth. He hides his smile in Thorin’s shoulder.

“I’m flattered, really.”

They lounge in front of the fireplace for another hour or so before Thorin has to leave. “I’ve an early start tomorrow. I’ll be headed to Erebor for another consultation.” Bilbo nods as he runs fingers through the taller man’s hair. Thorin and Dwalin’s trade was in custom jewelry. They each dealt with precious gems and stones and had a studio workshop twenty minutes away from the burrow. And they were apparently pretty well known for their handiwork. It wasn’t shocking to hear places as far as Erebor asked after them.

“Can I give you a ride to the station?” Bilbo asks as he meets Thorin’s eyes.

“I’d not have it any other way.”

* * *

After dropping Thorin off at the train station, Bilbo itches to write. He drives home with a wild smile on his face he can't feel. With Frodo still at Kíli's, he has the house to himself. And for the first time in the longest time, Bilbo loses track of the time. He feels jittery in the best way. Only after his hand begins to cramp up does he stop and start to feel the slowing down of the whirling cogs and cranks in his mind. 

He giggles to himself as he rereads his drafts and ideas and sketches and shorts. Bilbo feels lighter than air. 

That evening he and Frodo eat leftovers and watch reruns of Adventure Time.

The next morning Bilbo finds himself in charge of some early Christmas shopping with Fíli, Tilda and Frodo. The three of them are tucked into Bilbo’s hatchback, Christmas music playing low.

“What are you going to get Kíli?” Bilbo asks Frodo, just to fill the car with more than Bing Crosby’s voice.

“I don’t know,” the boy’s answer is thoughtful. He has some ideas, then. Bilbo chuckles and pulls into the parking lot of the mall twenty minutes away from their home. Fíli pipes in, “I know what you should get him, Frodo. I’ll show it to you when we get to it.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Bilbo gives him a once over. “Fíli Durin, you’d better not be planning anything,” Bilbo grumbles, throwing the car into park. As they pile out of the car, he hears the teen laugh.

 “Nothing too harmful, I promise.” Bilbo rolls his eyes and helps Tilda out of her seat. The youngest of Bard’s children was a gem: at two years younger than Frodo, she held her own in conversation and hilarity.

“I’m going to get everyone a boyfriend,” she declares from her momentary place on Bilbo’s hip. That makes Frodo laugh and Bilbo shake his head.

“You let me know how that turns out, Tilda.” She grabs Bilbo’s hand and is babbling away about how everyone needed a boyfriend and how her boyfriend was going to have super powers.

They make relatively good time and progress in the three hours they spend hopping from shop to shop.

Bilbo had gifts for just about everyone, Frodo included. He checks his phone and sees he’s missed a call from Bard. As he lets the younger two play in a free-range kid corral, he gives Fíli some cash to get everyone snacks.

He holds his phone to his ear and listens to the message.

**Hey, Bilbo, it’s Bard. I just wanted to invite you and Frodo over for dinner tonight to pay you back for taking the terror off of my hands for the day. Well, more like Sigrid’s hands. Either way, both of us thought dinner was an appropriate reward. Bring whatever you’d like, but Bain’s probably got it covered. Call me back, we’ll figure out a time. See you.**

Bilbo smiles and hits redial. Bard picks up on the third ring.

“Bilbo! You got my message,” he says, more than asks. Bilbo nods, “Yes, count us in. I think Frodo’s getting tired of my spaghetti anyway.” Bard laughs. “Sounds good. I was thinking a little after seven, does that work for you?” Bilbo agrees and they talk for a little bit more before Fíli returns with popcorn and drinks.

“Yeah, no problem. I’ve got to go, but we’ll see you tonight.”

“Sounds good, I’m sure Bain will be thrilled.”

“Excellent. See you,” and Bilbo hangs up with a click.

The foursome munches on their snacks before Bilbo decides to call it quits. Fíli is the first to object.

“Just one more stop, it’s for Kíli,” he intones trying to keep a smile off of his face. Bilbo folds and they gather their things and follow Fíli towards the closest toy store.

The teen stops in front of a bright orange and blue display case and Bilbo finds himself smiling.

“Are you sure this isn’t what you’d want as a gift, Fíli?” he asks. Fíli grins. “I already have one, Mr. Baggins. Figured we get Kíli up to speed.”

With their final purchase in tow, Frodo plays line leader back to the car. They climb in and the heat is on before the last door closes. Tilda’s nose is a rosy pink and Frodo rubs his hands together, teeth chattering a little.

“Give it a minute,” Bilbo promises and they’re bound for home to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock.

* * *

That evening after dinner, Bard and Bilbo sit in the Bowman’s hearth room with Sigrid and Bain. Tilda and Frodo are busy coloring on the kitchen table.

“So, how’s the neighborhood treating you, Mr. Baggins?” Bard asks, a knowing glint in his eye. Bilbo laughs, and squints back at him.

“Peachy, Mr. Bowman.” Bain looks between the two of them and rolls his eyes. Sigrid opens up a book, trying to hide her smile. 

“I can’t help myself, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Thorin so…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, but Bilbo finds himself understanding. He takes another sip of hard cider and Bilbo asks, “What about you, Bard? Anyone treating you?” Bard goes a surprising shade of pink and Bilbo nearly spits out his drink. He laughs loudly and finds Sigrid joining in.

“Hush, the lot of you,” Bard says. Bilbo doesn’t push it; the man’s obviously embarrassed and his children are present. But it doesn’t stop Bilbo from wondering. And also laughing at him.

“Anyway,” Bilbo continues, for Bard’s sake, “Since I’ve only lived here for three months, and I’ve already been thrown into the fire, I figure it’s your turn to host the next holiday.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, why me?” Bain giggles from his spot on the love seat, closest to the gas fireplace.

“You would make Radagast clean his home? The man must be pushing seventy-five,” Bilbo laughs, remembering the day that Radagast had invited him and Frodo over very vividly. His home was lined with oils, paint, brushes, old canvases, new canvases, guitars, sitars, records, books: it seemed just about enough to open a half priced goods store out of his front door. Bilbo continues “And besides, if Bain’s cooking is half as good as it was tonight, he could wipe the floor with a Christmas Eve feast.” The boy puffs up at the praise and Bilbo smiles. The thirteen year old surprised Bilbo with his love and knack for making food, but he just shrugged and chowed down. Bilbo looks at Bard then, challenging him to object.

Bard relents and Sigrid woos.


	5. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Christmas festivities include laughing with friends, drinking spiked eggnog, and meeting one Thranduil Oropherion.

When December falls upon them, it’s with sheets and blankets of snow. Bilbo remembers when he was Frodo’s age, eyes wide with wonder at the new icy world that Mother Nature bestowed upon him. Now, responsibility and a few achy joints temper that wonder. He can’t help but to bask in Frodo’s excitement, though. The boy was so mild on the usual; it’s a pleasant sound, his excited giggles.

In the days leading up to school’s release, Bilbo finds time alone with Thorin. Bilbo bounced between trying to do the best for his nephew and his current paramour. He’ll be the first to admit it leaves him spread a little thin; Thorin’s schedule is a many fanged beast that occasionally spits out flames. And Frodo is a nine-year-old boy, for Aulë’s sake. But he finds himself content. And for as satisfied as he’s been with Thorin, it’s only after he catches him singing along to Mariah Carrey’s All I Want For Christmas that Bilbo realizes he’s head over heels.

He tries not to think about it too hard, otherwise his father’s side of the family comes out. Things weren’t moving fast, so to speak, but Bilbo was in love. Holy shit, was he in love. It astounded him. It was a part of whom he identified as: Bilbo Baggins, uncle, writer, in love.

The pessimist in him is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Bilbo likes that they’re happy together. And it’s like riding the highest of highs. But he’s also vaguely aware that this can’t and won’t last forever. It was called honeymoon for a reason. Bilbo doesn’t know how to talk to Thorin about it, so he doesn’t. He is determined to enjoy the time they share and not let his concerns outweigh his happiness.

In those couple of evenings in mid-December when Frodo is at a friend’s for the night and Thorin has taken a long weekend, the two cook for each other and watch movies. It’s nothing exciting and Bilbo can’t help but laugh at the two of them. He draws his fingers through Thorin’s hair, where it’s graying at his temples, and jokes about how they’re aging themselves twenty years. Thorin pulls Bilbo’s hands up and over his shoulders and drags him into a kiss. 

“I doubt seventy-year-old me will care that he’s seventy years old,” Thorin mutters, cradling Bilbo’s face in his hands. “You make it sound like you’re planning on being a pervert,” Bilbo chortles.

“Who said anything about planning?” Bilbo laughs from where he’s settled in Thorin’s lap and the two fall asleep to Miracle on 34th Street.

* * *

The Saturday before Christmas finds Bilbo sitting next to Dís on her couch as they mull over presents and the season. Legolas and the Bowmans are over, building igloos in the backyard. Thorin is late getting back, as per usual. Dwalin’s texts assure the two of them that he’s married to this project, no big deal.

“I think I’m all set. Got everyone accounted for. Guess who I'm having the most trouble with.”

“If you say, ‘My boyfriend,’ I’m kicking you off of the premises, Bilbo Baggins. I don’t care if our children are connected at the hip,” Dís groans as she smiles.

“I was going to say Thorin, but since you obviously need to live out this fantasy-” Dís smacks Bilbo’s arm, mirth in her red face.

“You are trouble, Mr. Baggins,” she larks. “Trouble with a capital T.” They lapse into silence and Bilbo feels cozy.

“Dís, can I ask you a question?" 

“Depends.” He smacks her arm lightly, but sobers a little. He watches as Legolas nails Fíli right between the eyes with a snowball. Not a second later, Sigrid retaliates. It eases the tension that knots him up.

“You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to, but is the thing between Thorin and Legolas’ dad serious?”

Dís still smiles, but her eyes grow weary. 

“I wouldn’t say so, not anymore. They both were much angrier people twenty years ago. But I don’t see them breaking bread anytime soon.”

“I see,” Bilbo worries his bottom lip and sighs as he leans back into the couch. “Thank you for telling me. Legolas brought it up a few weeks ago, and it’s been bugging me. I didn’t know how to ask Thorin. I figure I still should. But I wanted to put Legolas at ease. It’s nice having him around. He’s good with the kids.” As he says this, the teen has one arm around Fíli and another shoving snow down Bain’s back. Bilbo and Dís share a look and then burst into laughter. “He is, he is, I swear he is!”

Something in Bilbo lessens at Dís’ words. He’ll talk to Thorin about it once the craziness of the Christmas season passes. The two parents sit and talk more, until they hear the front door open and Dwalin is shaking off his coat before crossing the threshold and planting a kiss on Dís lips.

Bilbo laughs as he pushes the couple away.

“Get a room, geez,” he smiles stealing the blanket that he and Dís were sharing up until that point. Dwalin smirks at him and opens his mouth to retort; Dís beats him to it. “Like you’re not boning my brother at every possible chance, Baggins.” They howl with laughter and Bilbo doesn’t bother to correct them. He snickers with them and shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t believe the things that he can do with his-” Dís and Dwalin’s smiles immediately vacate. She’s covering Bilbo’s mouth and Dwalin is covering his ears, and now Bilbo howls with laughter. 

That’s how Thorin and Bard find them minutes later. Bilbo can’t stop laughing. Bard shakes his head at the man as Thorin hangs up his coat.

That evening it snows another foot.

Bilbo and Frodo trudge home, sleepy but happy. Once settled in the front room with the fire blazing, swathed in all of the blankets they own, the two fall asleep.

December passes like a march, slow and steady. The snow piles up, melts and stacks right back up again.

Before he knows it, it’s Christmas Eve and he and Frodo are standing on the other side of Bard’s great red door, ringing for someone to let them in. The snow had held off that day, only just now at 4 in the afternoon starting to float down from the gray above them.

Sigrid, a smile illuminating her face, opens the door greeting the twosome.

“Merry Christmas, Bilbo, Frodo!” she practically sings as they step inside, shedding their coats. They are the last to arrive this time and are received by a booming cacophony from the rest of the burrow. Dís and Dwalin are standing in the kitchen, helping Bain and Balin put the finishing touches on the meal. Frodo leaps away from Bilbo to join Kíli and Tilda in the hearth room, admiring the pine tree decorated to the nines in the corner opposite the fireplace. Bilbo scans the crowd and finds he doesn’t recognize a tall man standing with his back to him, speaking to Bard. He finds he already knows who he is.

Thranduil was impressive in his stature, but nothing entirely unapproachable. Bilbo can’t deny the resemblance the man has with his son.

Legolas is upon him then, pulling Bilbo into a half hug. Bilbo smiles at this progress.

“Since you were so concerned,” Legolas mutters and introduces Bilbo to his father.

“Dad, this is Bilbo Baggins. He’s Frodo’s uncle- the lost boy.” Bilbo frowns in appreciation; Thranduil was magazine-worthy: all high cheekbones and regal hands. But then he’s smiling and shaking the (much) taller man’s hand.

“Pleasure to finally meet the father of my nephew’s savior,” Bilbo says and gets the appropriate reaction from Legolas. The teen sputters and fusses. Thranduil clears his throat and doesn’t quite smile, but neither is he outright frowning. 

“Mine as well. I’ve been wanting to meet this great ‘Mr. Bilbo Baggins’ for months now.” Bilbo smiles a little benignly and pats his hands down his front.

“Sorry, this is all there is to me, I’m afraid,” Bilbo smiles widely and Bard moves forward, standing next to Thranduil. Bilbo doesn’t let his expression shift an inch when he sees the two men’s hands brush against one another. But, oh, does he store that moment in his mind’s eye for later interrogation.

“Bilbo has been quite the addition to the neighborhood, Thranduil,” Bard says, arching an eyebrow in a dare. Bilbo tries not to laugh and snorts.

“Quite,” Thranduil says, and then Bilbo feels someone’s hands on his shoulders.

“Thranduil.” Bilbo watches as the man’s already steely expression hardens into diamond.

“Thorin,” is all he says. Bilbo gets the feeling he’s saying a lot more silently. Bilbo resists the urge to roll his eyes and turns to Thorin, moving his arm around the man’s waist.

“Glad to see you’re actually on time, sweetheart,” Bilbo says, taking all of the tension out of the air they occupied. Thorin turns to him, eyes a little wide, looking on the verge of irritation. This just makes Bilbo laugh. He turns to Thranduil and smiles genuinely. Thranduil faces him and leans a little to his right. “You’ll have to excuse him, he gets cranky when he’s hungry.” And then Thorin’s blushing and Thranduil’s eyes don’t look near as hooded and Bard is chuckling at the scene.

“Noted,” Thranduil says, and Bilbo swears he can hear the beginnings of a laugh in the man’s voice. Not wanting to push his luck, Bilbo pulls Thorin away with an award winning smile and a, “Nice to meet you." 

As they walk to the kitchen where an early dinner is beginning to be served, Thorin looks at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t say anything. Bilbo decides he’s safe.

Dinner is a boisterous thing with even more people than their usual Friday night jaunts. The Ri brothers have come bearing more dessert than anyone knew what to do with. (Dís decided they are welcome anytime, anywhere at that point.) Gandalf and Radagast held their ancient watch in the corner of the hearth room, soaking up the warmth from near the fireplace. Legolas sat with his father and Bard and every once in a while, Bilbo caught the teen looking between the two men with something akin to wonder in his eyes.

Now, no one was going to stop Bilbo when he cornered Bard about this.

But he decides that will be for another night. Kíli, Frodo and Bain are arguing over what reindeer is the best. Bilbo thinks he sides with Bain; it was hard to go wrong with a name like Blitzen. He stands up and heads to the kitchen, intent on filling up his cup with more hot chocolate. But just before he steps into the room, he hears Sigrid’s lark of laughter. He pokes his head in and finds the girl sitting on the counter listening intently to a story Fíli is telling her from his place against the sink.

Bilbo doesn't take that next step in, deciding he could wait a little bit longer for his fix. Mostly because it wasn’t hard to see the radiant flush that bloomed across Sigrid’s cheeks. Bilbo felt like he was being generous. The next time it happened, he’d be sure to embarrass Fíli. After all, that’s what friends and neighbors and practically nephews were for.

He rejoins Thorin on the couch and enjoys the feeling of his arm draped over his shoulders. He feels a low, exponentially increasing cheer settle in his chest. After dinner and dessert and a few glasses of spiked eggnog, Bilbo finds himself pleasantly buzzed. There’s a football game on in the background and Christmas music lilting in from somewhere further in the house. He pulls Thorin aside then, murmurs to him about being in a good mood despite the company. Thorin’s smirk isn’t pained, and Bilbo titters.

Dís clears her throat and the two turn to her. It’s with a pointed look that she raises her eyes above them. And everyone else’s eyes join hers. The small sprig of mistletoe dangles above them.

Bilbo knows what’s coming. It doesn't stop his face from lighting up like the Christmas tree. Thorin chuckles. “Looks like we’re caught.” And he kisses Bilbo on the cheek with a wry grin.

Bard whistles and Fíli and Kíli gag.

“Be thankful it was only on the cheek, you punks.”

The retching noises get louder.

Bilbo giggles and the evening is somehow cheerier after that. An hour or so later, he even catches Thorin and Thranduil speaking in low tones over their respective drinks. They don’t look upset. Bilbo counts this as a very, very good day. 

That night, as they all bid one another Merry Christmas and good evening, Thorin walks Bilbo and Frodo to their home.

“See you tomorrow?”

Thorin leans closer and presses his lips lightly against Bilbo’s.

“Of course." 

Bilbo does not swoon. He does not.

* * *

Christmas morning is an exciting thing, with Frodo bounding up and down the halls, running off of the pure adrenaline of it being the twenty-fifth day of December. Bilbo only groans a little when he checks his clock and it reads seven thirty in the morning. But then he’s up at Frodo’s urging and messing up the boys already monstrosity of a bed head. Bilbo makes a note to ask him about getting a hair cut sooner rather than later.

An hour later finds them dressed and in front of Dís’ front door, Frodo jumping up and down on the balls of his feet in anticipation. The door opens and it’s a near an exact repeat of yesterday afternoon.

It is a bright and happy affair. After a quick, light breakfast, the mass regroups in Dís’ living room and settles in to watch one another open up presents.

It’s then Kíli opens up his gift from Fíli (and Frodo). His jaw drops open and his face lights up brighter than the star at the top of the tree. He can just hold the overly sized, bright blue and orange Nerf gun in his little hands and Bilbo barely stifles a laugh. Dís doesn’t look nearly as excited as the rest of the men in the room.

“If I’m hit by one of those bullets, I’ll break that thing in two so fast, so help me,” she warns, her voice warmed with jollity. Kíli nods his head so fast, Bilbo’s concerned the boy suffers from some kind of self-inflicted concussion. But with how quickly he and Frodo fall into a shootout (Bilbo couldn’t leave his nephew weaponless), he figures he had other things to worry about. Like not getting hit by a bullet himself.

As the sun hangs above them in the sky, everyone lazes, basking in one another’s company. Come two in the afternoon, the majority moves on to watch a game on television. But Bilbo drifts asleep against Thorin’s shoulders. (Next thing Dís knows, the two are passed out against one another in the front room. She covers them with a blanket and smiles until her cheeks hurt.)

Later that day, when the sun is just starting to set, Bilbo blinks into consciousness and finds that he and Thorin are the only two in the room.

They lay together for a long time, basking in the warmth of one another’s embrace.

When they do finally start to move, Fíli comes in and blushes, backing out of the room, making a big deal of ‘not seeing anything’. Thorin laughs heartily as Bilbo flushes chartreuse.

“You had better correct him, Mr. Durin,” Bilbo threatens. “I’d rather like to see where this goes, Mr. Baggins,” Thorin counters, something in his eyes heated.

Just like that Bilbo is on him, showing him exactly where it would. 

They part just after Kíli walks into the room. “Oh god, my eyes!” Thorin laughs harder than before, and Bilbo realizes he has played himself.

“They’re old enough." 

Bilbo rolls his eyes and wonders at both his good and bad luck. He’s chuffed to find the good outweighs the bad by metric tons.

* * *

Bilbo’s a little surprised there’s not a neighborhood gathering for New Year’s Eve. Dís shrugs her shoulders. “It’s always been the one tradition we don’t share.” The two are baking today at Bilbo’s. Frodo and the boys wrestle each other in the snow and Dís keeps him company and chastises his gingersnap recipe.

“That’ll be weird. I’m so used to being with you all.” Dís works and kneads the dough for potato rolls as she studies him.

“Don’t worry, you goon, Thorin wouldn’t be found anywhere but by your side.” Bilbo rolls his eyes and pulls a tray of pretzels out of the oven.

“It may surprise you to find out that I enjoy your company too, Dís Durin.” She laughs then and gets that look in her eye that means she’s going to say some particularly dirty.

“Dís, my poor, pure ears can’t handle whatever it is you’re going to say. Please spare me.” She snorts and throws the dough down. “Like hell your ears are pure.” “How is that what you latch on to?” Bilbo asks, trying not to burn his thumbs on the tray.

“It’s what I latch on to because neither of you will dish me the good stuff,” she pouts, pulling a lump away from the dough ball. She rolls it between her hands for a few seconds and then plops it down on another cooking tray.

“Dís, if you would ask outright, I’d probably answer you.” She looks up and over her shoulder at him.

“Bilbo, tell me about you sex life,” she says, blank faced. Bilbo laughs loudly.

“Dís, what am I going to do with you?” “Bilbo, you said-” “We haven’t had sex yet.” He says with a smile. Dís’ jaw is one with the floor.

“WHAT.”

“What?” Bilbo asks, still smiling.

“What do you mean, ‘We haven’t had sex y-’ Bilbo! You’ve been lying to me!” She laughs as she pulls more dough away. “Only a little bit, here and there. And only when you and Dwalin were being unbearable.”

“If you’d said something, I wouldn’t have teased; you know that, right?”

“Of course, Dís, I was never offended.”

The pair goes quiet, each focusing on the task at hand.

“I know you’re no prude,” Dís begins, sounding like she was still deciding if she wanted to say what she was saying out loud. “Can I ask why not?” Bilbo loves this woman with a lot of his already full up heart.

“It means a lot that you asked,” Bilbo says slowly, sticking his tongue out at her from his spot next to her at the island. They’re surrounded by breads and doughs and chocolates and fruits. Bilbo thinks for another minute.

“I guess there hasn’t been any real… rush? Like, man, do I love Thorin.” He flushes red putting that thought out into the air. “Like it’s a stupid, giddy, all encompassing love.” Dís keeps a rhythm with her body as she pulls and shapes the dough.

“And every other relationship I’ve ever been in was a frantic, ‘Oh god, please don’t leave me, let’s do this now,’ kind of thing.” Bilbo remembers parts of high school, of college, of his relationships that always started with a bang (sometimes literally) and ended in a whimper. “I figure it’ll happen when it happens.”

Dís works quietly for another moment before meeting Bilbo’s gaze.

“You are such a loser, I can’t even-” Bilbo blanches for a moment before Dís is laughing and smooshing dough onto his shirt. She pats his chest. “Bilbo Baggins, I would never judge you for that. Your body, your choice and all that. I just couldn’t hear you wax poetic for another moment.”

“You harlot,” Bilbo grumbles and then is coating Dís’ hair in chocolate. She screeches. It’s a prelude to war, but Bilbo can’t help but laugh. Leave it to Dís to take a beautiful admission and warp it into a food fight. 

Bilbo almost forgives her; the potato rolls are to die for.

* * *

On New Year’s Eve Frodo worms his way into staying up until midnight. Bilbo shot a couple of texts Thorin’s way earlier in the evening, but got no response. He figures he’s at work. It’s a touch frustrating, Bilbo finds. But he has Frodo to entertain, so he pops open the bottle of sparkling grape juice and pours them two glass glasses of the drink.

At Frodo’s wide eyes, Bilbo smiles and pins him with a serious look.

“Only for the most special of occasions,” he intones at his nephew.

Frodo takes the glass reverently and can’t tear his eyes away.

Eleven thirty rolls around and Bilbo mutes the television. Frodo hadn’t lasted a minute after ten forty-five. Bilbo doesn’t mind.

He watches as the glowing ball plunges to the ground. He wonders where that tradition came from.

Bilbo tucks Frodo in to his bed and kisses his forehead. He smoothes his hair and whispers, “I hope this year treats us better.”

Bilbo knows it’s going to.

As he stands up to leave Frodo’s room, he sees car lights brighten the dark, dark outside. He walks out of the boy’s room and down the steps.

His front door is unlocked, and Bilbo shakes his head when it opens quietly.

“Speak of the devil,” Bilbo says, maybe a little unkindly. Thorin sags a little bit, but his apologetic smile could raise the dead.

“Lost track of time,” Thorin says. Bilbo looks at him for a moment before walking past him to gather the drinks and food he and Frodo left behind. Thorin closes the door and takes off his jacket.

“And your phone?” Bilbo asks, the heat of his annoyance eking out of his words. Thorin turns to him, scratching the back of head. “Look, just a text would be nice, Thorin,” Bilbo says, and leaves the room for the kitchen.

He stands at the sink for a minute before he feels Thorin come up behind him.

“I’m sorry, Bilbo.”

Bilbo leans back into the man and blows all of the air out of his lungs.

“It’s okay. You’re here. Thank you for gracing me with your presence,” Bilbo says, unable to stop the sarcasm from drawling out the word ‘gracing’. Thorin harrumphs against him and lightly kisses his neck. Bilbo turns in his arms and kisses him soundly. 

“Twelve twenty-six is still technically the middle of the night,” Thorin says, pulling away slightly. 

“Says the man who ‘lost track of time’.” Thorin is upon him again with fervency. This time, it’s Bilbo who loses track.


	6. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting back into the swing of things, brief backstories, and a black eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient, fell into a short slump for a hot second. More to come, soon! Happy New Year!

Bilbo listens to Frodo’s soft breathing as he sits in the front room with his laptop and a mug of tea. It’s not quite snow that’s falling from the sky on this late afternoon. The weather had been positively atrocious the past couple of days and Bilbo doesn’t blame his nephew for sleeping the evening away. He too would rather not deal with the slurry of ice and sleet. The nine year old snuggles into the other end of the couch and Bilbo makes sure the boy’s entirely covered with a blanket before settling once more into his own end.

He sighs only once. Getting depressed now won’t do him any good. So he channels that fortitude into finishing the first draft of his next book.

In the time that he’d found himself alone, between Thorin being tied up with appointments and obligations, and Frodo having only eyes for their neighbors, Bilbo had found inspiration through grit teeth and the sheer magnitude of what he felt he had to put down in writing. Having found rightness in his life, between Frodo being goofy and happy and Thorin and all of his neighbors/family, Bilbo finds writing fits him again.

It still isn’t easy; it’s something he has to actively work at. But, with this story in particular, he knows how it will all play out. He has gotten himself comfortable in his characters’ socks and shoes (at least the one’s that wore shoes). With half of his notebook dedicated to this, he sets small goals and begins meeting them.

He figures he’ll go through another two drafts before submitting it to his editor.

Bilbo chips and chips away at this monster of a story and the storm outside becomes a steady companion as he loses awareness of his surroundings. It’s when he pauses to crack his knuckles that he realizes it’s one in the morning.

He rubs his eyes and saves his progress before closing his laptop and standing up to stretch. He lets his arms drop to his sides and listens to the quiet constant weather.

After properly tucking Frodo into his bed, Bilbo makes for his own. He walks down the stairs and studies the framed pictures he passes. There’s one of him and his parents when he was a boy, maybe only a few years older than Frodo is now. He moves on to the next one of Frodo as a newborn. The lad’s expression is neutral, but attentive. Bilbo figures Frodo has always been curious. He moves down the hallway and into his room. It’s soaked in the early morning grays and purples.

He gladly undresses and falls into his bed, pulling the covers up and around his head.

When he wakes up the next morning, he finds himself twisted into a cocoon of blankets and huffs at his restlessness. The clock on the wall tells him it’s a little past ten in the morning. He stops unwinding himself from the covers and runs through a few thoughts, reminders about the day. School didn’t start for another two days; he needed to do some shopping with Frodo, get him ready for the second semester. There was something else he was forgetting, but he figures if it is that important he’ll remember it sooner or later.

After another minute, he disentangles himself from his sheets and gets his day started.

He washes his face and shaves after feeling stubble pull against his fingers. He showers and does his business in the bathroom and steps out, once thoroughly scrubbed down, vigorously drying his hair. He pulls a comb through it a couple of times before finding a wild hair tie sticking out from underneath his dresser. He ties his mop up and off of his neck and gets dressed in jeans and a sweater.

He steps into the hallway and pads his way into the kitchen. Frodo is sat at the table coloring something and Bilbo smiles, messing up his nephew’s hair as he passes by him.

“Sleep well?” Frodo makes a noise to the affirmative and Bilbo pours himself a cup of day old coffee. He grimaces a little bit before pouring out the rest and doing a couple of dishes.

“So, today I was thinking we go do a little shopping. Get you some things for school.” Frodo grumbles and Bilbo sighs, thinking, ‘I know, me too, bud.’

“After that I’m sure Kíli will want to hang out, hmm? So we’ll get this done and then you’re free, kiddo.” Frodo doesn’t look at him as he continues to color, but eventually agrees.

Bilbo makes them a quick breakfast of cereal and toast and within the hour, they’re out of the house and on the way to the closest clothing and school supplies stores.

Frodo is picking out a Pokémon backpack when a taller, blond man catches Bilbo’s eye. There was no mistaking Thranduil Oropherion, but it was admittedly a little odd seeing him browsing the crayon and marker stand of this Target’s back to school section.

“Tilda!” Frodo runs full tilt towards the little girl and Bilbo smiles slowly.

Tilda Bowman is holding Thranduil’s hand and they both turn when Frodo skids to a stop just feet from them.

“What are you doing here? Are you buying school supplies too? I didn’t want to come out today, but now you’re here!” The two talk excitedly for a moment before Bilbo walks up beside Frodo and turns his smile to Thranduil.

“Sorry, he’s a such a busybody." 

“No harm,” Thranduil says, the smallest of grins gracing his face. Bilbo clears his throat and they talk about nothing while the kids go off to compare lunch boxes.

“I guess Bard would be busy this time of year with sick kids and whatnot,” Bilbo says, eyeing the taller man as he grabs tissues and sets them into his basket.

“I’m simply returning a favor,” Thranduil says, his measured voice a little clipped. Bilbo smiles, deciding to let sleeping dogs lie.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Oropherion. I don’t mean to be as much of a busybody as my nephew. Speaking of which, we need to be on our way.” Bilbo calls for Frodo and turns back to Thranduil.

“Either way, I hope you have a good new year. You and your son should come over for dinner sometime. Promise it’d be delicious.” Bilbo smiles in earnest and bids the two goodbye.

Oh, he was cornering Bard within the next twenty-four hours.

* * *

That evening, Bilbo invites himself over to Bard’s under the pretense of one last get together before the craziness of school starts back up. Tilda and Bain open the door and Frodo is off into their world, bounding up the stairs to Bain’s bedroom, laughing all the way.

“I have to say, Bard, it’s a wonder they get on so well.” The man chuckles and takes Bilbo’s coat from him.

“Innit, though? All of these kids. Give it a few years I guess and they’ll grow into hateful little teenagers.” Sigrid coughs from the kitchen and Bard apologizes half-assedly.

They eat dinner after a while. The younger kids gather around a video game console and relish in screaming at one another until they’re rolling on the ground laughing about something one of the characters did in the game.

Bilbo doesn’t understand them, but figures it’s better this way. Sigrid begs off of kitchen duty to head up to her room. She raises an eyebrow at Bilbo, and he smiles in confusion. She rolls her eyes and is up the stairs in a blink.

So Bard offers Bilbo some wine and they sit in front of the fireplace and sip on their drinks.

Bilbo decides to go for broke. He sees no point in beating around the bush.

“So, Frodo and I were at Target today and we ran into the funniest pair.” Bilbo watches as Bard stills and gulps down the wine in his mouth.

“Is that so?”

“Bard, I’m not here to poke fun at you. I’m going out with Thorin Durin, for Mahal’s sake. I’m just curious,” Bilbo intones gently. “And maybe I want to congratulate you. I mean, he’s certainly got his looks.”

Bard chokes. Bilbo laughs.

“Aulë, Bilbo,” Bard mutters weakly.

“So? Are you seeing him, Bard?” Bilbo asks, kindly. The man rolls his glass between his hands.

“Thranduil and I go back. Quite a few years, actually. I met him while I was still working at the hospital in midtown.” Bilbo watches as the man looks down at his glass of wine and his eyes crinkle. “It all just kind of goes from there. We were never official- the kids were too young and…” he trails off and Bilbo smiles. He understands, he thinks. He looks at the walls of Bard’s house. They’re lined from nearly floor to ceiling with pictures of the kids and Bard. There are also pictures of the children’s mother.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Bard’s face is tinged pink and he grabs a pillow and throws it at Bilbo. He dodges, but only just.

“If it’s any consolation, he looked entirely at ease with Tilda today,” Bilbo says, taking another drink. Bard flushes a shiny red. Bilbo leans back into his chair and the conversation weaves in and around Thranduil and Thorin and their children and school.

Bilbo claps Bard on the shoulder as he leaves with a sleepy Frodo in tow. 

“Thank you for telling me, Bard. I’ll try not to be too obnoxious about it.” Bard rolls his eyes and shoos the Bagginses out of his house. Bilbo doesn’t miss the small smile on his lips as he wishes them good night.

* * *

Once school picks back up, Bilbo truly has all the time in the world to himself. He starts by cleaning the house again. He blasts Def Leopard and Queen and Rush and remembers fondly Dís’ admonishments from months ago. It only makes him crank the music up that much louder.

The weather had hardly improved from the beginning of the month and he doubts anyone in their right mind would have the nerve to trudge through the freezing rain just to give him a piece of their mind.

The guest room and Frodo’s room are easy enough. The first was hardly used in the first place. And for being a human tornado, Frodo was getting markedly better at picking up after himself. (Bilbo has to stop himself from laughing out loud every time he remembers hearing Frodo violently jumping up and down and yelling at the top of his lungs when he stepped on a Lego piece.) He breezes through the upstairs bathroom and is surprised it’s only eleven in the morning by the time he’s moved on to the kitchen.

It’s sparkling in thirty minutes and Bilbo feels that has to be some kind of world record. For as many experiments that Frodo insisted on trying on the stove, Bilbo is stunned at how effortlessly it wipes down. 

He will never admit to it, but four hours into his war against germs and filth, Bilbo turns on Animal by Kesha. He doesn’t skip any song.

He eats a quick lunch of crackers and cheese and left over from Christmas summer sausage.

He texts Thorin and sets his phone on the table in the kitchen. He vacuums and dusts and is a mess by the time he’s done everything there is to possibly do to clean a house in mid-January. He comes back to his phone and finds two unopened messages.

**come over im so boredddd**

Dís had nothing if not a way with words. He shakes his head and replies.

**Sorry, spent the day cleaning. I’ll see you at dinner?**

He checks his other message. It’s Dwalin.

**Thorin broke his phone at work. Wanted me to tell you he’ll be home this afternoon.**

Bilbo furrows his brow. How could he have possibly broken his phone?

**Okay**

Bilbo won’t dump all of his questions on Dwalin. He figures the response is enough until he talks to Thorin in person tonight.

He jumps into the shower at two o’clock and is nice and warm and clean and comfortable sitting in his corner of the front room couch an hour later, tapping quickly away on his laptop.

He checks his phone and Dís responded ten minutes ago.

**can’t do din tonight c u tmrrw??**

**That’s ok. I’ll make us brunch at eleven.**

Bilbo sets his phone down and types another few sentences. **  
**

**O my god, marry me**

Bilbo chuckles.

**Didn’t think Dwalin was into sharing**

**SHUT UP**

**Haha, bring OJ and champagne. It’ll be a date.**

**:D**

Bilbo closes his phone. He sinks back into the couch and closes his eyes. There’s a turning of a handle coming from the front door. In walk Frodo, Kíli, and Bain.

“Shoes off. I just cleaned this entire house. If I see one speck of dirt enter I’ll be forced to take drastic measures,” he drawls and looks up at the boys. He flies off the couch in an instant. He kneels down in front of Kíli and brushes hair out of his face.

“What happened,” Bilbo asks, eyes wide and voice gentle. Kíli has tear tracks down his cheeks and his left eye is dark and bruised. Frodo is not much better, less bruised, but clearly upset. Bain grits his teeth, but isn’t crying.

Kíli’s tears brim over, and Bilbo pulls him in closely soothing him. Bain frowns and scratches his head.

“Bain, can you tell me what happened?” Bilbo asks, wanting an answer, but also not wanting to spook them.

“…Bolg was being mean and calling you and Thorin names.” Bilbo feels his stomach sink and his heart throb.

“Kíli told him to stop, but then he punched him so we punched him back.” Bilbo frowns. He takes a breath and continues to soothe Kíli. He looks at Frodo, but his nephew won’t meet his eyes. His evening is going to go a little bit differently than he had anticipated. Bilbo sighs and scoots away from Kíli, grabbing his phone.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do boys. Everyone take a deep breath. Ready?” They all breathe in together. “Out,” Bilbo says and they exhale.

“Let’s get you both some Band-Aids.” He guides Frodo and Kíli to the bathroom and washes Kíli’s face, applying some antiseptic before turning to Frodo.

“I can do it myself,” he mumbles as Bilbo brushes hair out of his eyes. He still won’t look at him.

“Okay,” Bilbo says and he steps away. Frodo looks to him then. Bilbo holds his gaze for a moment, face open and betraying nothing. He hands his nephew the antiseptic and bandages.

“I trust you,” he tells Frodo. He squeezes the boy’s shoulder and then steps out of the bathroom to make some phone calls.

Bain sits at the island and is drinking a glass of water. Bilbo nods at him. He dials Dís first.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh, Bilbo?” Bilbo huffs weakly and is about to begin speaking when she interrupts him.

“By the way, is Kíli over there? I saw the bus drive past, but he still hasn’t wandered his way over here.”

“Dís, you should come over. They’re okay, but the boys were in a fight.”

“I’m… sorry, what? I’m, I’ll be there.” She hangs up before he can say anything else. He sighs and checks on Frodo. He’s done a pretty good job of covering all of his cuts. They’re minor, no gaping wounds or anything like that. But there’s one he can’t quite reach on his arm just above his elbow. Bilbo takes the antiseptic from him and quickly applies some and covers it with a Band-Aid before his nephew can react.

“I said, I could-” Bilbo looks at him, frowning.

“Let me, Frodo.” There’s no room in his voice for arguments. He then ushers him and Kíli to the kitchen. They sit at the island and Bilbo pours them glasses of water.

“Feel any better, Kíli?” Bilbo asks, trying to keep his voice light.

“A little.” Bilbo nods and then hears the door opening again.

“We’re in the kitchen,” he calls, just as Dís pokes her head into the living room. She doesn’t say anything when she sees Kíli. He looks up at her and his lip trembles.

“Oh sweetie,” she says, pulling her youngest into her arms. Bilbo sits between Bain and Frodo and turns to the older of the two.

“You should probably call your dad, Bain. Get him in the loop too.” The boy nods and goes into the other room to make the call.

“What happened, Kíli?” He answers his mother in whispers and Bilbo remembers he has an icepack in the freezer. He stands up, opens the door and finds it. He taps on Dís’ shoulder and offers it to her. She nods and takes it from him.

Bilbo faces Frodo again. There’s an anger there he’s not seen in the boy before. He doesn’t know if it’s directed at him or the situation, but he doesn’t want to talk about it in front of company.

“My dad’s coming to pick me up,” Bain says as he reenters the kitchen. Bilbo nods and rests a hand on the top of Bain’s head.

“That’s good, Bain. We’ll take care of this. Thank you for being with my nephew and Kíli.” Bilbo ruffles his hair lightly and Bain’s smile doesn’t look entirely forced. Bilbo breathes a sigh of relief at that.

Once Bain has left, Bard speaking quickly and quietly with Bilbo about what happened, Bilbo closes the door. Dís and Kíli sit down cross-legged in the kitchen.

Frodo sits with his hands in fists on his lap. Bilbo bites his lip. Dís looks up at him, then at Frodo, and stands up, holding Kíli’s hand.

“I think we’re going to head home, Bilbo. Thank you for taking care of them.” She turns to Frodo.

“I’m glad you’re safe Frodo. We’ll see you tomorrow.” She says and cups his face with a warm hand.

The two leave. Bilbo returns to the kitchen.

He sits down next to Frodo and it’s silent for a moment. Bilbo looks at his nephew and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Frodo… is there something else?” Bilbo asks.

“It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not nothing. You won’t look at me,” Bilbo points out, feeling like crying himself.

Frodo mumbles.

Bilbo blinks.

“What was that?”

“I want Mom,” he sniffs. Bilbo swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say.

“But I can’t have her.” Frodo says, tears falling on to his shaking hands. Bilbo scrubs at his eyes.

“I want her. I miss her. I want my mom,” and he’s sobbing and Bilbo pulls him into his arms and cries with him. It’s been ten months, and in this moment, everything feels like it was just yesterday.

“I’m sorry, Frodo. I’m sorry I’m not her. Mahal, I’m so sorry,” his throat hurts and they sink to the floor of the kitchen.

“It’s not,” he hiccups, “fair.” Bilbo agrees. They sit together for who knows how long, holding on to one another.

He vaguely hears the front door opening again. Bilbo closes his eyes and wishes whoever it is to go away.

“Bilbo…? Frodo? Where are you?”

Of all the times for him to be here, Bilbo childishly wishes he were still at work. Thorin steps into the kitchen. He quietly kneels on the ground next to where they are sitting. Without saying a word, he pulls the two into his arms and holds them. Frodo wails and Bilbo’s heart breaks. He buries his face in Thorin’s chest and holds on to what he has left. He bites his lip so hard it bleeds.

* * *

Frodo cries himself to sleep. Bilbo wishes he’d done the same. Aulë, does he feel like he’s been hit by a bus. Thorin lays the boy on the couch and goes to get blankets to cover him with.

Bilbo clenches and unclenches his fists. He thinks he wants to vomit.

He sits at the kitchen island, his back to Frodo.

Hands suddenly on his shoulders work their way through the tension that had built up in the last two hours.

“What can I do?” Thorin asks. Bilbo doesn’t know what to say. Fresh tears spill over and Bilbo is so lost he doesn’t know where to begin.

“Thorin, I,” he tries to take his own advice, to breathe deeply. “I am trying so hard to do good by, by Frodo. And I don’t think… I-” His breath catches. He stops talking. He collects his thoughts. Thorin is a steady constant of warmth and touch, keeping him from flying off the handle.

“He said, he said they got into a fight because some kid was calling you names. Us names.” Thorin nods, eyes sad.

“I heard from Dís.” Bilbo covers his eyes.

“Frodo couldn’t look at me, Thorin. He wouldn’t,” he cries, meeting his boyfriend’s eyes. “I’ve never felt so, so,” Bilbo can’t describe that feeling of hopelessness. He covers his mouth and lets Thorin pull him into his arms once again.

“I’m not ashamed of loving you,” Bilbo says, voice so, so soft. “It’s my choice. But it’s not Frodo’s.” Thorin wipes away the hot tears from Bilbo’s face. “How can we protect them, Thorin?” The ambience of the house settles over the room. Thorin doesn’t respond, and Bilbo doesn’t blame him for not having an answer.

Thorin pulls away, standing up. Bilbo takes a minute to breathe. He looks up at Thorin.

“We continue,” he says, like that’s all there is to it. Bilbo stands up, pushing his chair away from the island.

Maybe he has a point.

“I’m tired,” Bilbo says, stepping towards the living room where Frodo is sleeping. Thorin joins him on the couch perpendicular to Frodo. Bilbo doesn’t sleep, but neither does Thorin. They breathe together for a long time.

* * *

The next morning, Bilbo wakes up twisted in his bed sheets again. He’s thoroughly confused, trying to figure out when he got up from the couch. As he turns, he’s greeted by Frodo’s contemplative stare from maybe a foot away. His eyes are a little red, but there's a clarity there that was missing yesterday. 

“What are you _doing_?” his nephew asks, sniffing. He picks at the blankets wrapped around Bilbo. 

“What are _you_ doing?” Bilbo retorts. It’s silent for a beat before Frodo snorts.

“You look dumb,” he snickers, rubbing at his eyes.

“You look dumb!” Bilbo was not going to be talked down by his nephew.

“You’re just repeating everything I’m-”

“You’re just repeating everything I’m-”

“My name’s Bilbo and I like farts.”

“Nice to meet you, Bilbo-”

“HEY!” Frodo tackles Bilbo to the mattress and they both stare at each other before laughing. Bilbo is so relieved it's unreal. 

“I love you, Uncle.” Just like that, Bilbo feels all of the air in his lungs leave him in a whoosh. He wraps his arms around Frodo and kisses his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

“I love you too, Frodo. I will always love you. Forever and ever and ever.” They lie there, content to not let go. 

A cough from the doorway makes the pair look up. Thorin is standing there, wearing sweatpants and a sweater holding a cup of something steaming.

“Do I need to give you two some alone time?” Bilbo shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Get over here,” he says. Thorin sets down his drink on the dresser and crosses over to the other side of the bed, sandwiching Frodo between the two of them.

“Ack!” Frodo starts to giggle and struggles to break away. Bilbo traps him within the folds of his covers.

“Now you’re stuck forever.”

“What? No way.”

“Sorry, Frodo, that’s it. You have to live on this bed for the rest of forever.” Frodo swats at him and Bilbo chuckles. He feels Thorin move closer to him, hand on his cheek.

“Eww!!” They both laugh this time. Bilbo opens an eye and the stress in him eases at the laughter lines on Frodo’s face. 

“Sorry, Frodo. Forever’s forever.”

The boy’s yowls fall on deaf ears. Bilbo messes up his hair and closes his eyes again. The fragile feeling loosens its grip on his throat.


	7. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are things and then there are things. (And then there's a food fight.)

It takes time, but Bilbo finds himself breathing easier. Since that day the boys had come home beaten, but unapologetic, he makes it a point to talk with Frodo. Really pick the boy’s brain, dig deeper past the same old, same old question of, ‘What did you do at school today?’ Dinner becomes a thoughtful experience for the two of them. For as many questions as Bilbo asks, Frodo asks more.

They figure out where they go from here.

The Monday after the incident, Bilbo is called to school and he sits down in the principal’s office next to Frodo, Dís, Kíli, the other boy Bolg and what had to be his father, Azog. It makes for a cramped space, but Bilbo is glad to confront this issue unflinchingly.

About thirty seconds into the meeting, he finds he can’t stand the sound of Azog’s voice. Forget the apologist stance he takes, forget the subtle slurs he lets slip, his voice is just nails on a chalkboard. But Bilbo is steadfast in his resolve. He doesn’t raise his voice when he asks questions. He doesn’t sneer or smack his lips when Azog interrupts him. He is as cool as a rock under the ocean and he relishes in how that obviously irritates the ruffled, vitriolic man sitting across from him.

They all are in understanding (save for one) that no one goes unpunished for this. Kíli and Frodo are suspended for two days each. Bolg is suspended for three.

Bilbo observes the child sat across from him and next to his father. Sure he’s got a rough face, but kids are just kids. And with a father like Azog? Bilbo’s heart breaks a little for the boy. He thinks about Gandalf and his bottomless wisdom in moments like these. He imagines the man would mutter about hate being learned, being taught; hate being force fed through familial ties, dripped down the throats of the innocent until it clogged out everything else. He pulls himself from his thoughts as the meeting ends. He shakes hands with the principal. He turns to Azog, but the man is already whirling away, marching through the door. Dís doesn’t bother to hide the contempt on her face. Bilbo is thankful for her.

As they drive home, Frodo is quiet. Bilbo looks at him through the rearview mirror. He clears his throat and brings his eyes back to the road.

“Did you hang out with Bolg before this?” he asks, thinking of how to phrase his questions without sounding antagonistic.

“Every once in a while,” Frodo answers after a quiet minute. Bilbo hums and continues driving.

“I’m guessing he wasn’t always this mean…?” he ventures, turning left onto the street before their house. Frodo frowns.

“We used to play tag.” This makes Bilbo impossibly sad. He pulls into their driveway and puts the car in park. He unbuckles and turns all the way around to face his nephew. “I’m sorry he said what he did. And I’m sorry he hit you.” Frodo nods. “I’m sorry you hit him. I’m sorry his dad is so angry,” Bilbo says. Frodo nods again, a little slower.

“Let’s get inside,” he opens his door, and waits at the front of the car for Frodo to join him. He grabs the boy’s hand before he can object and the two make their way up the steps.

Once inside, Bilbo shakes off his coat and scarf and hangs them up. Frodo does the same. “Well, looks like it’s me and you for the next forty-eight hours, kiddo. What should we do?” Frodo puts his hands on his hips and surveys their home. Bilbo watches as he glances over the books in every nook and cranny, the mismatched furniture and cutlery, the drawings and paintings that line the walls. He turns to Bilbo.

“We bake.”

So they do. It’s not quite Valentine’s Day yet, but they get started on red cookies and Oreo balls and Bilbo turns on the happiest music he can find. He’s impressed Frodo lasts fifteen minutes before changing the playlist to something less sugary. Lunchtime rolls around and Dís and Kíli make an appearance, bearing gifts of hotdogs and buns. Bilbo puts a tray of tater tots in the oven and that’s that. Sitting down to take a bite, Bilbo hears the doorbell ring, and he excuses himself.

He opens the door to Thorin trying to juggle the biggest fruit bouquet he’s ever seen and his new phone.

“Are you trying to woo me with an edible arrangement?” he asks, laughing. Thorin barks out a laugh and kisses his cheek. “Is it working?”

Bilbo snickers, pulling at his button up. “Ugh, take me now, Thorin,” he barely manages to deadpan before succumbing to chuckles. He takes the fruit assortment from Thorin and shuts the door behind him. “A client was particularly pleased with one of their most recent purchases.” Bilbo laughs noisily. “She told me to consider it a tip,” Thorin says, a little nonplussed. He pockets his phone and Bilbo smiles. “Well, I’ll consider it part of lunch. We just sat down.”

“‘We’?” An hour later, all of the hotdogs (and half of the fruit monstrosity) gone, Bilbo very much wants to take a nap. So, Dís takes the boys over for some baking of her own, and Bilbo has the house to himself. And Thorin.

He pads back to his room and toes off his socks before falling on to his bed, the mattress protesting his weight. He hears another pair of footsteps close in on him.

“I never did ask why you were off so early,” Bilbo murmurs, turning over onto his right side to face the doorway. Thorin steps closer and shrugs.

“End of the contract with the fruit tipper. I have roughly twenty four hours before the next contract begins.” He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for Bilbo. “Thought I’d make the most of it.” He leans that much closer and they’re kissing. Bilbo pulls Thorin under.

When they pull apart, he has to take a moment to just look at the man above him. Thorin’s long hair spills over his shoulders and onto the bed encasing the two of them. One of his wide hands rests on Bilbo’s hip, his thumb tracing maddeningly suggestive circles. Bilbo arches into the motion and the room suddenly feels hot.

Thorin’s mouth is on his neck and Bilbo is quick to reach a hand up, grabbing on to the hair at the base of his head. He holds him there for a moment. Thorin licks off of him and moves only centimeters where he whispers in Bilbo’s ear. Shivers race up and down his spine. As a man in his mid-thirties, Bilbo thought he had his list of likes and dislikes, sexually speaking, squared off in a neatly lined box.

Thorin’s voice had shoved every other kink he had off the face of the earth.

His heart racing, giddy at what’s to come, Bilbo reaches for Thorin’s belt.

The doorbell rings.

The two look at each other for a long moment, faces a little flushed and both more than a little indecent. Bilbo groans, but he’s laughing by the end of his breath.

The doorbell rings again.

“Are you going to get that?” Thorin asks, collapsing just a little bit, a smile pushing at his cheeks.

“Like either of us are in any shape to be answering the door,” Bilbo grouses, kissing Thorin. He has to pull away before it becomes impossible to greet anyone without being charged for indecent exposure.

The doorbell rings again. Bilbo sits up and Thorin moves away leaning back on his forearms, giving his boyfriend some space.

“If this is an overzealous girl scout, I’m going to scream,” Bilbo grumbles, more to himself than Thorin. He hears the man snort. It makes Bilbo feel a little less postal.

A few thoughts of Gandalf naked and Bilbo is decent enough to see who could possibly be at his front door.

He leaves Thorin on his bed and walks up to the entryway. Taking a look through the peephole, Bilbo sighs.

He opens the door and is greeted by Radagast smiling widely and holding a huge canvas.

“Mr. Baggins!”

“Radagast, how are you?” Bilbo refuses to let the fact that Mr. Brown (of all people) is the biggest cockblock he’s ever had the misfortune of experiencing color his interaction with the elderly man. He blinks, wondering what he could possibly do for the man.

“M’good, I just finished a piece and thought, ‘Ya know who needs this? Bilbo Baggins!’ So here ya are.” Bilbo takes the large canvas a little mystified. Radagast smiles like Bilbo has just paid him the nicest compliment in the world and Bilbo scrambles to thank him as the man waves it off. Just like that he’s saluting goodbye and humming something that sounds like Help by the Beatles. Bilbo looks down at the painting and leans it against the back of the couch in the front room.

From what Bilbo has seen of the man’s work, he could tell this particular painting is a little bit past normal for Radagast. All of the obnoxious colors are there, but there’s something he can’t quite put his finger on. But right then Bilbo remembers Thorin Durin is waiting for him in his bed. He scrambles back to his room and Thorin laughs when he looks up at him.

“Forget something?” 

Bilbo pounces.

* * *

Dís and Bilbo finally have brunch together the day before Valentine’s. It’s surprisingly nice out for mid February, and Bilbo’s drives the two of them to a restaurant maybe thirty minutes away. They’re seated pretty soon after arriving, and of course Dís waits until after he’s just taken a sip of his mimosa to ask, “So are you the top or bottom?” Bilbo snickers and discretely kicks her under the table. “Wouldn’t you like to know!” he laughs. She smiles with all of her teeth and eats a cherry tomato off of her Bloody Mary. As she’s chewing a look crosses her face.

“Actually, the more I think about it, the more I really don’t want to know about my brother’s sex life.”

“Coming from the woman who was distraught at me not sharing anything.”

“Sometimes I forget it’s Thorin you’re banging. Or being banged by. Ugh.” Bilbo hums into his drink and smiles as she shivers. “It’s obvious something’s happened. Or started happening. Thorin let Kíli braid his hair the other night. _Kíli_ , Bilbo.” He laughs, remembering how Thorin had come over with ribbon and a couple of little green army men sticking out of his tresses. He smiles remembering how they had worked together to get the damn things out. Dís snorts and scans over the menu for a moment. Bilbo chews on his lip before answering her.

“We’re figuring things out.” She looks up at him and his small smile and for an instant, Bilbo is stunned by Dís’ radiant face.

“Good. Very good,” she says.

Bilbo agrees.

* * *

Valentine’s Day lands on a Monday and Thorin’s on a business trip until Tuesday night. Bilbo takes no offense; he wasn’t the biggest fan of the holiday to begin with. But Frodo takes it very seriously. So, they invite Gandalf over for the evening once Frodo’s done with school. They start by making a mixture of the older man and Frodo’s favorite foods. (Bilbo can’t help the picture he posts to Instagram; there was something hilarious about box macaroni and cheese and beef wellington in the same meal.) After dinner and Frodo has distributed his valentines to both Bilbo and Gandalf, he excuses himself to take the rest next door and down to the Bowman’s. Bilbo makes him promise to take Kíli with him, and with that the boy is on his way, box of Spongebob cards rattling in his hands.

Gandalf sits across from Bilbo in the front room and they talk as Bilbo watches Frodo deliver his gifts.

“How are things?” Bilbo eases into his chair.

“A little bumpy. But I guess that’s normal?” Gandalf smiles and examines the room he’s sat in. “From the looks of things, I’d say they’d be less than bumpy. I daresay you look positively glowing,” the man raises an eyebrow and smiles. Bilbo rolls his eyes and smiles.

“You’re sounding like Dís, Gandalf. And I don’t mean to flatter,” Bilbo chides. But he meets Gandalf’s eyes and only sees happiness.

“It’s still rough, but…” Bilbo watches as Frodo pops back out from Dís’ house with Kíli, Fíli _and_ Legolas in tow. He huffs and shakes his head.

“But I think things are good.” They lull into a comfortable silence. 

“I’m a little nervous for next month.” Gandalf nods, understanding. Instead of offering advice, the man leans into his chair and breathes deeply. Bilbo finds this soothing.

“I’m just a phone call away should you need anything Bilbo.” Gandalf smiles his ancient smile and that’s that. Bilbo looks back out of the window to see Frodo, Kíli, Fíli, Legolas and Sigrid marching back toward their home. “Here comes the entourage,” Bilbo warns as he stands up to greet the group. He opens the door just as they reach the steps to the porch.

“Come one, come all!” They pile in and greet Gandalf and Frodo brings out the cupcakes and cookies they’d made the day before. Bilbo finds he prefers the way Frodo celebrates Valentine’s Day: surrounded by friends and with maybe a sugar cookie too many.

* * *

The snow is all melted by the time Legolas’ car breaks down, so at least there’s that. At any rate, that’s what Bilbo tells him after the teen hangs up on his dad. Frodo was off spending the night at the Bowman’s, so it was only fate that the evening he’d planned to spend alone and mostly in the bathtub was quickly shaping up to be spent with teenagers.

“Don’t worry about it, Legs,” Fíli says from where he’s pushing the car into its normal parking spot in front of Bilbo’s house. “There’s a chance it’s just your battery.” Bilbo thinks otherwise, but wisely says nothing. It’s Saturday afternoon and he does feel a little bad for the teen. He remembers his first car. (He shudders.)

To take the edge off, he offers the boys hot chocolate. They acquiesce.

After another hour of no luck getting the engine to turn over (even after jumping the battery) Legolas relents and they call a tow truck. After sending the car off, Bilbo offers dinner to the twosome. Neither has to be asked more than once. Legolas helps Bilbo cut up romaine lettuce for a salad, and Fíli sets the table. They work efficiently together, and some forty-five minutes later, they sit down to a feast.

“So, how’re things with Thorin?” Bilbo nearly chokes on his first bite.

“They’re… fine?” he half laughs, half coughs. ‘Of all people to ask,’ he thinks looking at Fíli, wondering what the teenager was thinking.

“No, Bilbo, like _things_.” And now he gets it. If Fíli thinks he can embarrass him, he’s a hundred years too early. Bilbo smirks.

“Really good,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes. “But enough about that. How are things with Sigrid?” Legolas snorts and Fíli sputters. Bilbo savors his bite of meatloaf and grins as Legolas sets down his fork because he’s laughing so hard.

“There’s nothing there,” Fíli grumbles, and Bilbo decides to smooth things over a little bit. “You sure about that? She looked pretty smitten at Christmas.”

“That was then.” Bilbo smiles. How dramatic it must be to be fifteen.

“I wouldn’t give up just yet, Fíli.” And he smiles and eats more of his food. They don’t talk about girls or boys. Bilbo feels a little bad, but he figures Fíli would have to deal with this kind of thing sooner or later. He feels the need to turn on Legolas next.

“How’s the old man?” Bilbo bites into spoonful of peas.

“He’s not that old,” Legolas raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Older than me.”

“I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“It’s Thorin who he doesn’t like.”

“For now.” But Legolas can’t keep the smile from his face as he responds. Bilbo beams and takes a drink from his glass of water.

“I don’t know,” Legolas says, picking at his salad. “He’s been busy with work and too tired by the time I get home to really bother.” Bilbo wonders at the existence of Thranduil. “You know, I’ve been meaning to invite the two of you over for dinner. Think he’d say no?”

“I don’t know. He might. Depends on what kind of day you catch him.”

“Then I’ll leave it to you. Pick a date and we’ll do it. Just Frodo, you, your father and me. I’m sure I can win him over yet with my lasagna.”

“Definitely not your meatloaf,” Fíli says, only to be met with a spoonful of mashed potatoes to the forehead. He yelps and Bilbo snickers, scooping up another round. Before he can dive, Legolas hits him square in the chest with a cherry tomato. He feigns mortal wounds and the boys giggle like loons.

It’s to this scene that Thorin walks in.

They struggle to reign themselves in, but manage it as Thorin sits down between Legolas and Bilbo, brandishing a plate.

“I mean, I expected this from my nephew, but you two as well?” he says looking from Legolas to Bilbo as he serves himself dinner. Bilbo watches as Legolas’ eyes widen a little bit. He wonders how often the teen interacts with Thorin one on one. Bilbo hums as he watches Thorin smile at the blond. He swoons. Look at his boyfriend setting aside old wounds to not be a dick to people only involved by association. Bilbo rewards Thorin with a spoonful of peas aimed for his nose. But Thorin’s too quick. The peas pelt Legolas who tries and fails to escape the barrage.

In retaliation, Thorin flicks a bit of meatloaf off of his spoon onto Bilbo’s nose. Dinner continues after a few minutes of back and forth; the ceasefire they agree on barely holds things together, but it works. The conversation slows to a stop as they finish and Bilbo grabs the plates from everyone. Thorin’s not far behind him with the cutlery and for a few moments it’s just the two of them in the kitchen. Bilbo sets the dishes in the sink and turns to find Thorin shoulder to shoulder with him. He smiles up at him and the taller leans down to kiss him gently.

From behind them, Legolas clears his throat. Bilbo pulls away and raises an eyebrow in a challenge. Legolas rolls his eyes.

“My Dad’s here to pick me up.” Bilbo nods and steps away from Thorin with the intent to walk Legolas to the door. A hand on his arm stops him.

“I’ll… see you out,” Thorin says. Bilbo stands very still, and doesn’t say anything. But he smiles when Thorin looks his way and nods his head.

“Sounds good. Fíli, come help me with the dishes,” Bilbo calls into the dining room. Fíli groans and it only fuels Bilbo’s desire to put the boy to manual labor. He smiles at Legolas.

“Be sure to ask him about dinner,” is all he says in lieu of goodbye. Legolas nods, looks between the two of them, sighs and follows Thorin to the front door.

It kills Bilbo to not immediately follow them and listen in on what kind of goodbyes they make, but he refuses to get in the way of whatever was happening. He hears the door open and close. Five minutes later, he hears it open and close again. Thorin rejoins them in the kitchen and helps Fíli dry plates.

Fíli apparently knows better than to say anything, but Bilbo can tell he’s on tenterhooks wanting to ask. Bilbo does the dirty work for him.

“Thranduil have any new jokes?” Thorin snorts, looking at both his nephew and boyfriend.

“It’s been years. They haven’t gotten any better.” Bilbo hears the underlying message and leans into him. Fíli doesn’t and rolls his eyes.

Fifteen minutes more finds Bilbo and Fíli standing in the entryway.

“I’m serious what I said about Sigrid,” Bilbo says quietly to him. “She looked interested.”

“There’s somebody else.” Bilbo doesn’t wince or tell him to steal Sigrid away. He puts a hand on the teenager’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t be her friend anymore,” he reasons. Fíli sniffs and smiles a little weakly at him.

“Suppose so.”

“There you go. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have _things_ to take care of with Thorin.” The color leaves Fíli’s face and he bolts. Bilbo laughs and laughs and doesn't stop laughing until Thorin’s kissing him quiet.

* * *

The next morning, Bilbo wakes up tangled in Thorin’s hair. (And legs.) He doesn’t move for a long time, content to just lie there with the man. He soothes Thorin’s face in motions that he vaguely remembers his mother doing for him. Across the brow, down the side of the cheek to the chin, back up and across the cheek, and so on. Bilbo fingers move deftly. He doesn’t know how much time passes.

Thorin wakes up slowly and pulls Bilbo into him, morning breath and all.

“You know, Frodo’s not back for another,” Bilbo checks the clock on the wall. “Three hours.” Thorin’s grin is toothier than normal. His hands slide down Bilbo’s sides. “I’m sure we can put that time to good use.”

They don’t leave the bed for another hour and a half.

When they do eventually get up, it’s to shower.

That takes another hour.

It’s a wonder they’re decent by the time Frodo comes marching into the house, his Bulbasaur backpack somehow fuller than it was when he left.

“Did you have fun?” Bilbo asks, preparing himself for the onslaught of information he was about to receive. He sits down on the couch in the living room; Frodo stands in front of him, Bulbasaur thrown to the side, ready to put on a show.

“Yeah, we played dinosaurs and thieves and Mr. Bowman was the sheriff, and I was a diplodocus!” Bilbo listens with a smile on his face as the boy reenacts the final act of their game, with voices and all. Thorin pours himself another cup of coffee and sits down next to Bilbo and rests an arm across his shoulders. They listen to Frodo’s tale and ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ at all the right times. Bilbo plays with the fringes of the man’s sweater and wishes every Sunday were like this.

Once finished, Frodo leaves to go to the kitchen. He suddenly stops, turning to Bilbo.

“Did Radagast paint that picture by the couch?” Bilbo nods, having forgot all about the painting until just now.

“Yes, he gave it to us yesterday as a gift. You’re going to have to help me decide where we should hang it.” Frodo smiles and goes back to original directive; there is chocolate milk to be had in the fridge.

Another hour later and Frodo is practicing for his piano recital in two months, and Thorin is reading a book in the living room. Bilbo kind of wants to cry at the domesticity of it all.

He goes to the front room and looks once more at the painting Radagast had bestowed upon them.

He’s hit by the feeling that something’s off, and he looks closely at the work. He nearly gives up deciphering it and is walking away when he takes a look back and is struck by the two faces he suddenly sees. It takes his breath away. He interrupts Frodo’s practice to drag him to the very spot he’s standing.

“What do you see?” he asks, the strangest mix of happy and sad.

“They look like Mom and Dad,” Frodo says quietly.

“I thought so too.”

The faces are calm; expressions nearly neutral save for the smiles. Bilbo holds Frodo’s hand. 

“Where should we hang it?” Frodo looks up at him and then drags him around the entire house. They judge the rooms, the walls, the lighting, everything. After fifteen or so minutes, Bilbo and Frodo stand in the living room both looking above the fireplace. They turn to one another and decide nothing else would make sense.

A little research and time later, with Dwalin’s assistance, they step back to admire their handiwork. Frodo nods and goes back to the piano. Bilbo watches him go; he looks back at the painting. It feels like it’s always belonged in its place above the fireplace in this house next to the Durin’s, down the street from the Bowman’s, just before the way to Radagast’s, across the field from the Oropherion’s. 

Bilbo settles in, next to Thorin and listens as Frodo goes back to the piano. Not for the first time, he revels in it all.


	8. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is both a blessing and a curse.

Bilbo isn’t particularly superstitious. But sometimes he wishes he were. Then he could blame all of the tragedy and misfortune on the fantastic supernatural instead of the chaos of everyday life. He could look Frodo in the eye as he says that they’re just unlucky.

He’s not superstitious. Doesn’t make him stop from wishing he were able to suspend his disbelief.

March comes in like a lamb, and the raising temperature does wonders for the world around them. Plants start to poke through the earth, searching for the source of that warmth. Birds sing timid songs as if testing the waters.

Bilbo tries not to let himself be bitter when he thinks about it. He has to stop himself from getting caught in the, ‘why does this insignificant, screechy bird get to sing songs when my family is dead’ mindset because even he can see the humor in the absurdity of that reasoning. He also tries for Frodo because the boy is clearly thinking the same things.

Bilbo knows he’ll never actually replace the boy’s parents. He shouldn’t. Doesn’t want to. But it’s difficult to wrestle with his thoughts on the matter while also paying bills, running errands, writing and caring for Frodo at the same time. Bilbo lets himself ponder on those inklings during the day when Frodo is at school. He thinks he’s doing all right by the boy. Although, those thoughts are fewer and further between.

Bilbo knows he has to do something when he finds himself resenting Dís and her near boundless energy and vivre. (He is alone and drunk when that thought comes clawing into his mind. It’s not like Dís is without her own sorrows and misfortune, either. Bilbo is quick to remember that Dwalin isn’t the father of Fíli or Kíli. He hates himself in that moment.)

Mid March, Bilbo is crossing off the previous day on the calendar that hangs in the kitchen. He realizes spring break is the following week. He wouldn't have to excuse Frodo from any school should he need more time in Hobbiton. Bilbo curses Mahal for burdening such a sweet child with such misfortune. He begs off of Friday dinner the next evening. Dís looks at him from across the kitchen with concern etched into the creases around her eyes. He leans against her counter and rubs the back of his neck.

“It’ll be a year tomorrow. I think I… Frodo needs some time alone. We’ll be back…” he trails off, unsure of when exactly they’d be back. Dís nods slowly and pulls Bilbo into her arms.

He relaxes into the embrace and whispers his thanks.

Bilbo is both thankful and upset the following week is spring break; a lack in schedule always made room for unnecessary overthinking. That evening, he pushes those encroaching thoughts away and dials Thorin’s number. Bilbo holds his phone to his ear as he prepares dinner.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of…” Bilbo fumes for a split second before deciding to leave a message. Just as he’s about to begin speaking, Thorin cuts him off.

“Bilbo, I can’t talk right now, can I call you back in five minutes?” Bilbo grits his teeth, but nods. “Sounds good. Talk to you soon.” He hangs up before Thorin can say anything in response.

He finishes dinner and feels achy. Frodo sits in front of the TV in the living room and he’s quiet. His toys are tucked away in his room and any other day Bilbo would praise him for his orderliness.

‘Any other day,’ he laments.

“Dinner’s ready, bud.” He prepares Frodo’s plate and his own before joining him in the living room next to him. They eat quietly. Bilbo asks him silly questions and that earns an arm around Bilbo’s waist. Frodo smiles in a distracted way and Bilbo puts on Star Wars: A New Hope as they sit in one another’s arms.

Thirty minutes into it, Bilbo’s phone begins to ring. He extracts himself from Frodo and he answers in the front room.

“I can talk for a few minutes.” Bilbo knows he should articulate how that irks him, knows he should tell Thorin what his plans are for the next three or so days, but in this very moment, he finds he doesn’t want to talk to Thorin. He doesn’t want to leave Frodo’s side. Bilbo wonders why Thorin can’t just read his mind.

“Is everything all right?”

“… Yeah-” His throat is dry when he tries to swallow.

“Bilbo, what’s wrong?”

“Why would you ask if you know it’s not?” Bilbo feels like a piece of twine, twisted up and prickly.

“Sweetheart...?”

“I’m taking Frodo to Hobbiton for the next three days. We should be back Monday night.”

“Okay? What’s going on in-” Bilbo knows Thorin has a lot on his plate. He knows he’s got a schedule run by the Devil himself. It does not ease the sting that Thorin can’t remember why he’s making the trip. His lip trembles and he coughs to keep from crying over the phone.

“I’ve got to help Frodo pack,” he says, instead of telling Thorin it’s been one year since the boy’s parents were buried.

“Bilbo, tell me what’s… oh.” Bilbo hears the moment Thorin makes the connection.

“Bilbo, let me-”

“We’re leaving tomorrow at six. I’ll call you when we get there,” Bilbo says wanting to yell and fight and give him someway to channel all of this negative energy, but Thorin’s not rising to his bait. Bilbo didn’t know he could feel even worse. He says good-bye quickly and hangs up. The rest of the evening is spent packing, spot cleaning and feeling like he’s been hit by Bard’s rusted pickup.

The next morning he operates on autopilot. Frodo is too tired to really protest at being fed breakfast so early and soon enough the pair is on their way. Bilbo doesn’t realize he is waiting for Thorin to come make a scene until he’s tucked into his seat next to Frodo on the train, fifty some odd miles into their journey.

Bilbo turns his phone off then, deciding to focus on being present. Frodo is quiet, but not in tears. Bilbo holds his hand and squeezes. Frodo squeezes back.

They get to Hobbiton and Bilbo can’t be surprised Gandalf is waiting for the pair at the platform. He greets Frodo with a smile and a hug.

“I’m only here for the afternoon, but I figured I could deliver a hug or two to my favorite Bagginses.” Bilbo smiles and it doesn’t feel awful. The hug gives him the strength to face what he knows is coming.

After eating a light lunch together, Gandalf parts ways with them. He catches Bilbo’s eyes and smiles. “Send my regards to everyone.” Bilbo nods, unable to speak.

They drop their things off at the hotel they’re staying at.

“Let’s go,” Bilbo says, taking Frodo by the hand. It’s roughly three in the afternoon. It’s a beautiful day outside. There’s a smell of pastries in the air as they walk down a cobblestone road lined with shops.

“Uncle, can we get something for Mom and Dad?” Bilbo stops and meets his nephew’s eyes. His lip is wavering, but he’s got a determined look in his eyes.

“What were you thinking?”

“… Dad likes chocolate.” Bilbo straightens his back and with that they’re off to the nearest bakery. They make another stop at a nearby flower shop as well.

With their bounty in tow, Bilbo and Frodo reach the gates of Hobbiton’s only cemetery. Frodo’s hold on Bilbo’s hand is painful at best.

“Do you want to go to see Great Aunt Belladonna and Great Uncle Bungo first?” Bilbo asks, already setting them off in the direction. Frodo’s hold on Bilbo lessens as he falls in step with him.

They arrive next to the tree that looms over the couple’s graves. Bilbo sets lilies on to each of the graves and sits down. Frodo stares at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting down. Would you like to join me?”

“… Is it okay?”

“Of course, Frodo. I always sit down when I come here.” The boy hesitates before sitting down next to him and crossing his legs seriously.

“Now what?”

Bilbo can’t stop the laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… what are you supposed to do?”

“You’re not supposed to do anything. I mean…” Bilbo wracks his brain for an appropriate answer. “You can do whatever you’d like, Frodo. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” They sit in silence after that, listening to the distant village sounds, the bugs that are beginning to come out of hiding, the wind, it all.

“What do you talk to your mom and dad about?”

Bilbo smiles.

“You mostly.” Frodo jolts and turns to him.

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re my family. I tell them about your piano lessons and what grade you got on your spelling test.”

“No, why? I’m terrible at spelling!”

Bilbo chuckles at the boy’s concern.

“Because that’s what I would tell them if they were still here. I’d tell them all about you and your friends and Dís and the book I'm writing and my car and the house and Thorin,” Bilbo finishes quietly. He feels foolish. What kind of partner was he, getting spiteful at the drop of a pin? He sags a little bit.

Frodo turns away from him, looking in the opposite direction. His hair is longer than Bilbo’s now.

“Let’s go,” Frodo says, standing up. He holds out his hand for Bilbo. The older takes it.

“Let’s go,” Bilbo agrees.

Bilbo doesn’t quite have the pathways memorized when it comes to Primula and Drogo’s shared grave. The two wind their way around the cemetery holding hands. Frodo goes still after another few minutes of walking.

“I’m scared,” he says into Bilbo’s side.

“That’s okay,” Bilbo settles on. They are still for another minute before Frodo takes the first step. Another twenty feet and they’re standing in front of the graves.

Bilbo lays two more lilies on the graves and Frodo, with all the care in the world sets two small bags of sweets on the shared tombstone. He sits down and Bilbo joins him. 

Frodo takes a breath and the deluge begins. Bilbo doesn’t think he’s ever heard the boy speak so freely before, not even with Kíli. It’s like a dam bursting, the stories he tells about the people he’s met, Kíli, Fíli, Legolas, Bain, Tilda, Sigrid, Bolg, everyone and everything he’s done in the past six months is put into the air, and Bilbo puts a hand on his back when he starts to go a little red in the face. This slows the pace, definitely reminds the boy to breathe, but also gives way to tears.

Bilbo soothes the boy’s back as he mourns loudly. After a while, Frodo turns to him and hugs him as tightly as he can.

The sun is still overhead when they leave the cemetery, and Frodo’s quiet. Bilbo doesn’t disturb him with inane questions. He figures the silence is okay.

Once back at the hotel, Frodo flops onto the bed. Bilbo sits on the edge. They’re silent for a long time before Bilbo realizes the boy is asleep. He pats his head and stands up. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he steps outside onto a balcony attached to the little room.

He turns it on and stares at the screen. A few missed texts, two missed calls. Bilbo remembers he said he’d call Thorin that morning. He curses and dials his number, leaning over the railing, looking at the village square below. 

Thorin picks up on the second ring.

“Hey.” Bilbo breathes into the receiver. “I’m sorry I had my phone off this morning. I forgot.” Thorin hmms and Bilbo feels awful.

“Look, Thorin, I-”

“It’s okay, Bilbo... It’s okay.” Thorin sounds as tired as Bilbo feels. They lapse into silence and Bilbo scrubs at his face and neck.

“It’s really not,” he says, brokenly. Bilbo collapses into the chair on the balcony and switches ears.

“When will you be back?” Thorin asks quietly. Bilbo swallows.

“Monday night, unless something changes.”

“Keep me posted.” 

“Mmm.”

He wants to say something more, to apologize, to right things, but as he sinks into the chair, Thorin begins telling him about his day. Bilbo closes his eyes and nearly falls asleep to the undertones of the man’s voice.

When he wakes up Sunday morning, Bilbo finds Frodo drawing in one of his coloring books. Bilbo pats his head and the two eat left over sweets from their stop at the bakery yesterday. They spend the day walking around Hobbiton, and Bilbo points out where he grew up, where he went to school, all of the stories Gandalf had spun him when he was growing up. Frodo stops when they pass by the cemetery on the way back.

“Do you want to go inside?” Bilbo asks. Frodo looks and nods after a moment. So for the second day, Bilbo follows Frodo on the pathways. This time when they sit, Frodo doesn’t speak. Bilbo doesn’t prompt him, either. The two sit and just be for an hour. Then Frodo stands and holds out his hand for Bilbo. They make their way back to the bakery after they leave, grabbing a small bite for dinner.

It’s during dinner Frodo decides he wants to go back. “I want to be with Kíli and Fíli. I want to eat dinner with Dís and Balin. I want to watch a movie with you and Thorin before we go to bed.”

Bilbo nods, agreeing. He was glad the two of them got back to Hobbiton, as truly depressing as the weekend had been. A very small, but very there sense of closure settles in his stomach.

The next morning the two begin their return to the burrow. Bilbo texts Dís and Gandalf, thanking them. He thinks about calling Thorin. He eventually texts him, telling him they were returning a half a day earlier than originally planned. It’s pushing noon by the time the train rolls into the station.

Bilbo is a little surprised to see Thorin waiting there, with Fíli and Kíli in tow. The boys rush to Frodo, hugging him and chattering a mile a minute. Bilbo sighs and before he can say anything, Thorin is dragging him into a bone-crushing hug. He exhales once, harshly, before turning his head to better fit the curve of Thorin’s embrace. The two don’t move until Fíli coughs, muttering something about ‘idiots, the both of them.’

The five of them make their way home. Bilbo is content to let Thorin take the lead and listen to Fíli and Kíli chatter away. Frodo’s still a bit subdued, but neither Durin pay it any mind. They all pile into his Jeep and are home in half an hour.

The kids head to Dís' front door and leave Thorin and Bilbo to the bags. The adults head into Bilbo’s home and quickly deposit everything in their respective rooms. Bilbo takes off his jacket and scarf, throwing them over the foot of the bed. He stands in his room and breathes in. Before he can exhale, hands clasp his shoulders and run down his arms.

“I’m sorry for being distracted when you needed me,” Thorin apologizes. They stand there quietly for a beat. “I am supposed to be here for you and for Frodo.” Bilbo shakes his head. “No, Thorin. I put that on you and it wasn’t fair,” he says turning to face Thorin. “I can’t expect you to-” Thorin cuts him off with a hand on his cheek. “You should be able to.” He looks up at him and studies the serious set of his brow. It eases slightly when he pulls him down to kiss him.

They know they’re expected next door sooner rather than later, but Bilbo can’t bring himself to break it off. And just like that Thorin is pressing into him. Bilbo feels his heartbeat in his ears. Thorin has one hand on his hip, playing with his belt loops and another on his neck. Bilbo mirrors him for a moment before angling his head that much more and sliding his tongue along Thorin’s. Thorin backs him up against the wall of his bedroom and can’t be bothered to stop anytime soon. They make out like teenagers, chasing the high of one another. When Thorin pulls away, Bilbo bites the man’s bottom lip. “I think we should finish this later,” he murmurs into Bilbo’s neck. He nods against him and they don’t move for another minute.

Straightening each other’s clothes, Bilbo feels some of anguish that had made a nest on his shoulders lift off. Thorin is more handsy than usual and it takes them another ten minutes to make their way back to Dís’ front door. They open it and are rewarded with jeers and a cacophony of voices.

Dwalin and Balin are arm wrestling in the living room to the glee of Fíli, Kíli, Frodo and Bain. Dís looks mildly concerned, but she pulls her attention away from the men to fix Bilbo and Thorin with an impish grin.

“Wonder what took you so long,” Dís says, knowing glint in her eyes. “No, you don’t,” says Thorin, challenging her, not bothering to hide his smile.

“At least they weren’t in front of the children,” says Dwalin, grunting in an attempt to turn the tables on Balin.

“What?”

“Nothing, Frodo,” says Dís, half-heartedly glaring at all of them.

* * *

Hours later, when the children are asleep in front of the TV and the adults off to their own, Bilbo and Thorin escape. They cut away into the night, moving from the front of Dís’ yard to the hallway leading to Bilbo’s room. When Bilbo catches a fistful of the man’s shirt in his hand, Thorin picks him up, spinning him around and through the doorway. They tumble into his bed.

Bilbo gets stuck in his t-shirt, grumbling as Thorin snorts while helping him twist out of it. He throws it away from him and takes Thorin in. There is still something hard and worried in his blue, blue eyes, but the moment Bilbo lifts his hand to his face, it eases. His long hair moves over his shoulders like running water and Bilbo decides he would willingly be drowned in it. He closes his eyes as Thorin kisses him, and Bilbo pushes up and against him. Thorin grinds against the friction and the heady feeling of the other man on him pools in Bilbo’s lower abdomen. 

It’s not long before Bilbo is pushing back against Thorin, back arched and synapses firing all at once. Sweat drips off his forehead, lower back, everywhere and Bilbo can’t find it in him to care.

It’s like waves rushing over him; the full feeling of Thorin, the man’s hands on his hips and pulling his hair. Much too soon, Thorin’s biting into the meat of his shoulder and Bilbo’s seeing stars.

Thorin’s not far behind him.

They pull apart, chests heaving, sticky and flushed and Bilbo is ruined. He tells Thorin as much. The man rolls to his side, reaches for Bilbo and pulls him close. They fall asleep to the sound of one another’s heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience, guys. I'm actually moving back to the US in like, uh, a week, so things are going to be a little wonky for a bit.


	9. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stormy days lead to stormy nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for falling into the abyss. I made it back! Thank you for an incredible, unreasonable amount of patience and the people who asked if I was okay. I'm getting there.

March goes out like a lion. Storms leave the burrow drenched, and the creek that cuts through some of the walking trails behind Bilbo’s house overflows. Bilbo helps Radagast move his easel and stool into the elderly man’s home the Friday before the forecast calls for a week straight of this downpour. The old codger wants to pay him, the easel is no easy move, but Bilbo casts one look up to the painting hanging from his fireplace and shakes his head. They sit together and talk for the better part of the afternoon. Radagast spins him stories of when his band was on tour and Bilbo is delighted to hear more about the old man’s life. 

They part as Frodo and Kíli come running up, just off of the bus. “Hi Radagast!” Kíli says, holding on to Frodo while jumping up and down. Radagast leans down and musses the boy’s hair. Kíli’s smile is broad, proud of his teeth that are finally coming in.

“Hello, Kíli. How are ya?”

“Good, Frodo and I are gonna make a sand fort,” he responds.

“Better hurry, it’s ‘posed to start rainin’ tonight,” Radagast says, and then nods at Bilbo. He wishes them all a good bye and is out the door. Bilbo turns to the kids.

“He’s right. You’ve got another two hours before the rain hits.”

“Let’s go!”

Bilbo shakes his head and heads to the kitchen, deciding on what to bring to the dinner tonight.

An hour or so later, he’s got spanakopita finishing up in the oven and a Mediterranean salad keeping in the refrigerator. He’s just pulled the trays of the pastry out when the lights flicker. He turns the oven off and calls out to the boys in the backyard.

They open the back door and it’s like a roaring train passing through. Frodo and Kíli are soaked to the bone and it’s raining harder than Bilbo’s ever seen it before.

“It just started!”

“My teacher calls it a starburst,” Kíli says. “No wait, a cloudburst!” the two laugh at his mistake and Bilbo grabs them each a towel from the front room where they have been sitting from last night’s laundry folding party. With the boys toweling dry, Bilbo is wondering how long it’s going to last when the lights go off.

“Whoa!”

“Cool!”

Bilbo groans a little, but figures it’s not the worst; the food was done cooking at least.

He gets the boys to change into some of Frodo’s clothes and grabs the flashlight from where it sits in the cupboard next to the ravioli.

The trio regroups in the front room. They each pull on their jackets and Bilbo finds his umbrella. Each with a bowl of food in their hands, they make the trek back to Dís’.

By the time they’re closing the door behind them, Bilbo’s jeans are soaked, Kíli’s hair is dripping and Frodo doesn’t look like he changed into a dry outfit just five minutes ago. He has a flashlight pointed at him suddenly.

Dwalin takes one look at them and bursts into laughter. Bilbo shakes the umbrella at him once before he gets the picture and smothers his mirth.

He pulls at his sopping shirt, and suddenly has a towel on his head. He looks up and sees Fíli snickering from the crosswalk above him.

“Thank you, Fíli.”

“Anytime,” he says evenly and disappears, presumably to his room.

“That’s the happiest I’ve seen him in two weeks,” Dís calls from the living room.

Bilbo dries off as best he can and steps closer to her, wiping his face.

“Oh? Is something going on?”

“He’s fifteen, Bilbo.”

“Point,” he concedes smiling down at her.

“Dinner still on?”

“At least for us. Not sure about Bard and them.” Dís stands up from where she’s folding laundry and tosses a towel at Kíli and Frodo.

“Dry off, you hooligans. We’ll eat once Thorin wakes up.” Bilbo looks at her.

“Thorin’s here?”

“Been burning the candle at both ends. Dwalin is forcing him to take a week off.” Bilbo turns to Dwalin and the man stands to his full height nodding.

“We both have. So we both are.” Bilbo harrumphs. He’s kind of excited to have a whole week with Thorin not distracted by the job. It’ll be a first, he thinks a little sadly.

Something must give on his expression, and Dís has a hand on him in the next moment. Bilbo looks up and meets her eyes.

“In fact, why don’t you go get him up? I think we’re all a little peckish.” Bilbo is up the stairs and gently opening Thorin’s door in the next minute.

Thorin is asleep on his bed, mouth open, dead to the world. Bilbo walks up to his side and brushes hair out of his face. He kisses Thorin’s cheek and sits down on the edge of the bed, soothing his arm.

Thorin’s brow furrows before he blinks awake.

“Rise and shine,” Bilbo speaks softly. Thorin looks at him for a moment longer before rising up on an elbow and rubbing his eyes.

“Dinner’s ready, they didn’t want to start without you.” Thorin chuckles tiredly.

“Five more minutes,” he groans, pulling his hand down his face.

“Tell that to Frodo’s growling stomach,” Bilbo tries. It works and Thorin is upright and pulling off his shirt. Thorin catches Bilbo’s appreciation and raise an eyebrow as he smiles.

Bilbo rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t kidding about dinner, Thorin,” he says in a sigh. Thorin shrugs and stands up and out of the bed. He pulls open a dresser drawer and pulls on a long sleeve shirt before turning back to Bilbo. A serious look is set in his expression.

“Is everything all right?” 

“The power’s out,” Bilbo tries for a non sequitur. 

“What, really?”

A crack of thunder answers instead of Bilbo. They both are still for a moment before laughing at the impeccable timing. Bilbo trails off, picking at the fray of Thorin’s comforter. When he looks back up, Thorin’s arms are crossed.

“…Kind of,” Bilbo relents. Thorin moves to stand in front of him and takes a hand in his.

“Feel like sharing?”

“… After dinner work for you?” he asks, a little unsure. Thorin kisses the palm of his hand and nods. They head down stairs, hand in hand.

They eat by flashlight and it’s pleasant enough. But Bilbo isn’t really there. He can’t seem to organize his worries and thoughts and he’s distracted for the majority of the meal. It’s only after they’re through with cleaning and it is well and truly dark outside that Thorin steals him away back to his room. Bilbo face plants into the mattress and groans into one of Thorin’s pillows. He feels Thorin settle in next to him after a moment and turns his head to look at him.

“Spill.” 

Bilbo rolls on to his back and tugs an arm up and over his eyes.

“I think you work too much.”

When Thorin doesn’t reply, Bilbo peeks out from under his forearm. The man’s face is passive; he gestures for Bilbo to continue.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Thorin, you obviously have to enjoy your job to be as invested as you are, but do you honestly not mind the hours?” Thorin’s pensive as he studies Bilbo’s face.

“I love it.” Bilbo’s heart sinks just a little bit.

“I figured.” He doesn’t know why he tries to bring it up with him and his train of thought leaves him feeling embarrassed. Bilbo covers his face again and rolls away from him.

“It doesn’t mean I love you less.” Thorin’s arms fit snugly around Bilbo’s chest. Bilbo doesn’t respond but to hum noncommittally. Thorin pulls Bilbo closer and grumbles when he doesn’t respond in kind.

“Bilbo,” he chides.

“What, Thorin?” Bilbo asks, heat in his voice. Thorin sits up then, pulling away from him. Bilbo covers his face again.

“In the past two months, we only spent three days together. Three, whole uninterrupted, no work-pulling-you-away days, Thorin. I love you. Like, stupidly, head over heels, no take backs.” Bilbo decides to stand his ground. “Three days is not enough.”

Thorin is silent from his side of the bed. Bilbo listens to him breathe and cools off just a little bit.

“I’m not asking you to quit your job; I could never do that, Thorin. Your work is incredible and I get why you take so much pride in it. I just… A little give would be nice.” He finishes weakly, feeling stupid for asking so much from the man. Before he can truly curl in on himself, Thorin is back against him, holding him in place. He kisses the shell of Bilbo’s ear. 

Bilbo expects him to say something, anything. But Thorin doesn’t speak. Bilbo stands it for a moment before sitting up and pulling away from him.

“Bilbo…?”

“I’m going home. I’ll see you later.” With that he’s up and out of the room. “Bilbo, wait-” He’s down the steps in a blink.

“Dís, I’m not feeling well,” Bilbo says to her as he steps into the living room. She looks up at him and is immediately on edge. Kíli and Frodo are playing with action figures and don’t hear him over their din. 

“Bilbo?”

“I’d rather not be a burden,” he says, not really sure who he’s talking to. “I don’t want to bother Frodo. Is it all right if he stays the night?”

“Yes, Bilbo, that’s fine, but are you-”

“I’ll text you,” he says, as he opens the front door. He closes it just as Thorin steps down to the living room.

He is across the yard and in his house in under a minute. He locks the door behind him. Oh he’s so mad he could scream. After standing in the entryway for a moment, he crumples.

He rubs at his eyes and cries in frustration. His phone vibrates in his pocket. He silences it.

He is about to stand up when he feels knocking on the door. And then hears Thorin calling his name. He stands his ground for a moment before he walks away and towards the kitchen. And then the tumbler on the lock clicks and Bilbo remembers (of course) Thorin has a key to his house. He does not run, but it’s tempting.

He stands next to the island and anticipates.

“I said, ‘Wait’.”

Bilbo clenches his fists. He can’t bring himself to look up at Thorin.

“Bilbo, talk to me.”

“Thought we were finished talking,” he says and knows it’s childish. He grits his teeth.

“What do you want me to do?” Bilbo inhales. He looks up at Thorin and doesn’t blink.

“I want you to say something,” he grates out. Thorin is sopping wet. Water runs down his face and neck and he’s standing in a small puddle. He holds his arms at his sides stiffly.

“Bilbo,” he takes a step forward, reaching for him.

“No, Thorin, I want you to _say_ something,” Bilbo reiterates, backing away from him. Thorin stills immediately. “I want to talk about this, have a conversation.” Thorin looks down. Bilbo wants to pull his gaze back up.

“I just…” Bilbo waits. “… I don’t know what to say.” Bilbo doesn’t let himself get angry.

“I have all the time in the world, Thorin. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Didn’t seem that way just a moment ago,” he grits out. 

“Because just a moment ago when given the opportunity you said _nothing_ ,” Bilbo lets himself get angry. Thorin eyes widen a little, and he frowns bitterly. They stand at an impasse with one another before Bilbo leans forward, holding his head in his hands.

“I just want to be with you. Why is that so hard to…?” He is at his limit. Tears spill over, shoulders shake, and he doesn’t have to strength to pull Thorin off when the man’s arms wrap around him.

He kisses the top of Bilbo’s head.

In the darkness, soaking wet, Thorin clears his throat. It starts a slow and stilted thing, but he talks. The timbre of his voice and steady thump of his heartbeat keep time against Bilbo’s ear. It calms him down.

“I started shadowing my father when I was still in high school. I wish you could have met him, Bilbo. Seen him in his element. His work was unlike anything in the world.” Thorin pauses, readjusting his hold on the slighter man. Bilbo wipes his eyes and breathes into Thorin’s chest.

“He passed away suddenly when I was freshman in college. It was gutting for our family. Our mother couldn’t handle it. Frerin and Dís were still in high school, so I threw myself into work. Someone had to provide. I only did what I thought was best for them.” Bilbo pulls him in tightly, easily following Thorin’s memories and logic. He deflates when Thorin rests his chin on crown of his head. “I’m sorry I hesitated earlier.”

“No, Thorin,” Bilbo clears his throat, and blinks through his tears. “I’m sorry I do this.”

“Do what?”

“Expect you to know what I’m thinking and then lash out when you don’t. It’s not fair of me.” Thorin’s touch feathers up his arms and to his face. His thumbs wipe away stray tears and Bilbo closes his eyes.

“No, it’s not. But you’re… not wrong,” he admits, sounding discomfited. “I think… we both need to work on… things.” Bilbo sniffs. “Tell me how you feel, what pisses you off, what makes you happy, all of it. I… will make time for you Bilbo. Do you understand?” Bilbo tilts up to get an eyeful of Thorin.

“You are far more precious to me than any stone could ever be.”

Mahal, he’s a weeping mess. In the back of his mind, Bilbo thinks this can be chalked up to the single most embarrassing, most overwhelming moment in all of his relationships combined. Bilbo’s hold on him shakes, and Thorin only stops murmuring into his ear to press his lips to Bilbo’s.

Thunder rumbles and the din of the storm subsides as Thorin presses harder into him.

“Oh, Aulë on a stick!”

They both jump.

Dís is standing in the doorway of the foyer covering her eyes with a hand. She peeks through them.

“Okay, so I’m going to need you both to stop being so dramatic, you’re middle aged for Mahal’s sake. Also, Bilbo, don’t say you’ll text me and then turn off _your fucking phone_.” She levels them with a harsh look, through cracked fingers. “You’re both on kid duty this weekend.” With a whirl she’s gone; out of the front door with a slam. The sound of the storm crescendos, then. They hear her screech through the closed door. They turn to one another and with a look, collapse into weak chuckles. Bilbo wipes his face dry. He leans into Thorin.

“We are soaking.”

Thorin huffs and takes Bilbo’s hand in his.

“Who’s fault do you think that is?” Bilbo looks up at him through his curly damp hair.

“You honestly want me to answer?” Bilbo challenges.

Thorin grimaces and after a moment of consideration, nods.

“Mine,” Bilbo mumbles, cowed.

Thorin is quiet in his acknowledgement. For that, Bilbo is grateful.

* * *

Thorin ushers Bilbo in the shower, and Bilbo doesn’t fight it. The rain had been relentless and cold for the entirety of the mere moments it had buffeted him. In the restroom he moves on autopilot, stripping, showering, toweling dry. He avoids his reflection in the mirror, doesn’t want to make eye contact with someone so self-conscious for fear of second-hand embarrassment.

He steps out into his bedroom and throws the towel in the laundry basket, pushed up against the far corner. It nearly makes it. 

Bilbo rummages through his drawers and finds boxers and quickly steps into them. As he shuts the drawer, Thorin appears at the doorway, holding more wet towels.

Instead of saying anything, he walks into the bathroom, and closes the door behind him with a click. The shower rumbles on, and Bilbo doesn’t know what to do.

However dramatic he had been, a (decently sized) part of him didn’t want anything to change. Of course he wanted more time with simply be with Thorin, but things had been going well enough up to this point. With a huff, he sits on Thorin’s side of the bed. He shakes his head, smiling ruefully. This was the end of the honeymoon he had always been fighting, always dreading.

But as the door to the bathroom opens up, and Thorin walks out with a towel around his waist, Bilbo gives in. Before making his way to Bilbo’s side of the bed. Thorin walks up to the lump of wet towel Bilbo had neglected to pick up. He bends over and quickly deposits it into the basket. He then takes off his towel and adds it to the pile.

Shy was not a word associated with Thorin Durin.

He stands in front of Bilbo, naked as the day he was born. He brings his hands to his hips.

“What are we going to do with you, Bilbo Baggins?”

Bilbo shrugs. Thorin turns and grabs a pair of pajama bottoms, tugs them on with his broad back acting as a shield between the two.

“What are we going to do with me, Bilbo Baggins?”

Bilbo almost misses the question, fiddling with his fingernails. He looks up at Thorin as he sits down next to him. Thorin’s hands lay in his lap, palms facing up. Bilbo is brought back to that moment inside the man’s Jeep, on the way home from the train station all those months ago.

He reaches for his hand again.

Thorin’s fingers curl between his. They uncurl. He brings Bilbo’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“What now?” he asks, like Bilbo has any inkling. They sit in silence as the pitter-patter of the storm eases back into existence. Bilbo breathes in. “I try not to lose my mind over how much I love you..?” he tries for nonchalant. It works to his utter amazement as Thorin snorts.

“I was hoping you’d have an answer for me.”

“About what?”

“Where we go from here,” Thorin says. Bilbo clears his throat, suddenly overwhelmed having this beautiful, wholly beautiful man try for him. He flips their interlocked hands over and returns the kiss to the back of Thorin’s.

“I don’t know,” he admits. Thorin’s unamused eyebrows have him scramble.

“I don’t know, but I’d prefer it if we go together.” Mahal, swallow him whole, where did this he get off with lines like that?

Thorin is not fazed.

“I can work with that.”


	10. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filled with apologies, rain and a crisis.

Bilbo can’t quite believe the school year is so close to being finished. Another two weeks and then it will be summer break. He’s sent his first draft and a half to his editor. Kíli’s got an entire mouth full of teeth. He and Thorin are half a year into their relationship. 

The evening after their fight, Bilbo’s house is full. Dís held him to her word, and Fíli, Kíli, and Frodo ran rampant through his house. After an hour or so, he realizes Legolas had also somehow joined in. (Always a welcome addition, plus Bilbo figures it’s for Fíli’s sake.) Ignoring the fact that he could barely keep up with Kíli’s motor mouth on a good day, the boys run circles around him. 

It didn’t help that Thorin was there. Bilbo laughs; that’s what had earned him this wild night in the first place, wanting to spend more time with his boyfriend.

They are awkward. The usual ease of communication is nowhere to be found, and Bilbo finds himself getting flustered in front of the kids. Fíli keeps shooting his uncle looks when he thinks Bilbo isn’t looking. Bilbo ruffles the blonde’s hair as he leaves the room to get a drink.

“Are we really that bad?”

He looks up and over his shoulder at Thorin, who is half-heartedly glaring at the back of his nephew’s head. It breaks some of the ice that had built up. Bilbo chuckles and hands Thorin a beer.

“Probably. We’ll get better.” Aulë, does he hope.

“I cannot wait until he brings home his first girlfriend,” Thorin grumbles. Bilbo clinks his own bottle against Thorin’s.

“Give it a year or two.”

“Mahal, he’ll be worse by then.”

Bilbo leans against Thorin’s side and smiles, trying to shake the awkwardness away. Thorin wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple.

“You guys are gross,” Bilbo hears Fíli bemoan.

“Watch it, Durin. Don’t make me tell your uncle about Si-” The strangled yelp cuts him off, and Bilbo knows he’s won this round. He knows he shouldn’t be keeping track the way he does.

“About who now?”

“I’ll tell you in a year or two,” Bilbo smiles. Thorin smiles back and rolls his eyes. The evening doesn’t quiet down, not for another four hours. But Bilbo’s back straightens as he holds on to Thorin. He is filled with determination.

* * *

When the boys are in school a few days later, he invites himself next door. Dís had been studiously ignoring him since the storm. Which is how and why he finds himself armed with chocolate and a bottle of merlot standing in his friend’s foyer. The house feels entirely different in the late, quiet morning.

He finds her sitting in the sunroom, looking out at her garden.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to invade, Baggins.” Bilbo doesn’t sag, but he realizes this may take some time. 

“You wouldn’t have let me in for another month, Dís.”

“Maybe that would’ve been just fine.”

Bilbo sets his presents down on the low table in front of her. He decides to go for broke.

“I owe you two different apologies, Dís Durin.” She arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t turn to face him. Yet.

“I’ve been wrapped up in myself and… Thorin; maybe a little too tightly.” She turns, slowly.

“I don’t reckon I’ve been a very good friend the last month or so.” She scoffs. Bilbo clears his throat. “You have been nothing but a beacon in the storm for me and Frodo since the day we moved next door to you.”

Dís colors a bit. Bilbo smiles a wobbly smile.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been the same for you and the boys.”

“Bilbo- I,” he cuts her off. “Dís, thank you so much for giving your friendship to us. Believe me when I say we love you for it.” She looks a little gob smacked. He coughs once more.

“So, I’m sorry I had my head up my ass. And I’m sorry you got caught in the rain after…” He trails off, a little embarrassed and looks away.

"Fucker, I heard you laughing.”

He looks back up and Dís’ brow is furrowed but she’s smiling wildly.

“There’s no way.”

“Says the one who just admitted to it.” A beat passes and Bilbo collapses, laughing into the chair behind him. Dís stands up and joins him, squeezing into the love seat next to him.

“So, we’ve all survived our first fights. Now what?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling up for a scrap. Got a pair of boxing gloves?”

“Who do you take my family for, Baggins? We go au naturel in this household,” she says bringing up two fists.

He snorts and opens the chocolate, a peace offering in his hand. Dís takes it with a smile and wraps an arm around him.

* * *

Weeks later, he finds himself marveling at time. He is left at the mercy of its wake. Bilbo doesn’t marvel at the fact that the weather had not let up for what felt like ages. He and Frodo are walking back from the park one Saturday when another surge of rain leaves them stranded at the bus stop at the end of the street. It was still another five-minute walk home from where they huddled underneath the plastic overhang and Bilbo is not looking forward to it. He pulls out his phone just as it shuts off with no charge left. Bilbo can’t help but laugh.

“Just our luck, bud,” he says, ruffling Frodo’s hair. Frodo knocks his hand away, with a smile and roll of eyes.

They stand there for who knows how long until another kind of rumbling catches Bilbo’s attention. Bard pulls up in his beat up pickup truck, slowing down at the sight of the stranded. He opens the passenger door from where he’s sat at the wheel and Frodo doesn’t need to be told twice. The twosome jump in and they’re on their merry way.

“Must’ve been fate,” Bard chirps, a crinkle in the corner of his eyes. Frodo giggles and they’re back at Bard’s home in a blink.

They bolt out of the truck and to the open front door, and only manage to produce a small lake at their feet.

Bain closes the door behind them, snickering. Bilbo shakes off and Frodo follows suit. The four of them sit down in the sunroom, waiting for the deluge to stop. Frodo and Bain engage in a fierce battle of rock, paper, scissors. Bilbo is content to watch from afar. Bard offers him water and a plate of cookies, another recipe that Bain had been working on.

The rain carries on and becomes background noise.

Sigrid is telling them about her volleyball match last Thursday when a sudden knocking at the door interrupts. Bard is up and across the threshold. He opens the door to a wet and worried Legolas. At the sight of him, Bilbo is on his feet as well.

“Mr. Bowman, have you got any ibuprofen I can borrow?” “Legolas, are you all right?” “I’m fine, it’s my dad-” Before he can finish, Bard is moving quickly through the house, grabbing things. Bilbo watches in amazement at the agility of the man. “Legolas what’s going on?” Bilbo asks. Legolas has tears in his eyes, and he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Then all at once, Bard’s gathered everything he needs.

“I’ll call you when I’m done, all right? Don’t fret, Legolas, I’ll take care of him. Bilbo, could you-?” Bilbo nods, curtly, having no idea what he’s agreeing to. The man is out the door and into the storm.

Legolas drips onto the floor as he stands there a little shocked by the whirlwind that passed him.

“Legolas,” Bilbo starts. Then Bain is at his elbow handing him a small towel. He passes it to Legolas and the teenager just kind of stands there. Bilbo dries off his face and hair, taking the washcloth back. He and Legolas sit down in the living room. Sigrid and Frodo join them, hovering. Bain distracts Tilda in the kitchen.

“Dad was in an accident years ago, and he doesn’t like talking about it, but I know he’s in a lot of pain. When I found him about twenty minutes ago, he couldn’t talk. He’s never been that…” Legolas looks down at his hands and doesn’t finish his sentence. In the dim light of the room, he looks paper white.

Bilbo calms the boy down. It’s not an easy plight; he’s a little frazzled himself at the jerk neck speed at which the day changed pace. Frodo turns on the television and with Sigrid’s help turns it to cartoons. Bain and Tilda join them to congregate in the living room with crayons and paper and origami projects, and a little of the tension bleeds out of Legolas’ ramrod back. Bilbo has an arm around his shoulders, gently soothing where his hand can reach.

It’s an hour gone when Legolas’ phone buzzes in his pocket. He answers in a flash. Bilbo watches his face crumple in relief, and after crying out soft thanks he hands the man the phone. Legolas hides his face in Bilbo’s shoulder. If he feels tears dripping into his shirt, he doesn’t make any notice of it.

“Bilbo?”

“Hey, Bard, I’ve got him. All good?” He can hear the grimace in Bard’s words when he says, “Getting there.” He hums. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to bring Thorin or Dís over, might as well turn this into something good.”

“Ah, thank you. That would be good. I think this,” Bard pauses, “might take some time.” Bilbo is dying to ask questions, but stops when Legolas hiccups sadly.

“Keep us updated.”

In another hour, the Bowmans’ home is hosting half of the Durins and Dwalin. Radagast joined in as well, giving everyone something to smile at. His antics were a welcome distraction for a distraught Legolas. They all end up playing card games. The image of Dwalin losing to Tilda in a heated game of Go Fish was not something he’d be able to get out of his head anytime soon. Legolas is still quiet, and Bilbo doesn’t blame him. Fíli hugs his friend when he and Thorin arrive on the scene. (Dís is at home with a sick Kíli; Bilbo was in charge of texting her updates as the night progressed.) 

After they part, Bilbo watches Fíli out of the corner of his eye. The blonde teen sidles up to Sigrid. She smiles. He shows her something on his phone. She chuckles and in turn pulls out her phone. He whistles and turns away when Fíli catches him staring. Normally, he’d turn to Legolas. But the boy is distant, worrying his hands and not staring at anything. Bilbo places a hand on top of his and pats it gently.

“It’ll be okay,” he mumbles, not wanting to embarrass Legolas. The teen nods sharply.

Thorin pulls him aside when he leaves the room, begging off another round of five hundred rummy to use the restroom. It’s still a little strange between them, but with both of them making the effort the strangeness feels abstract. Bilbo shakes himself and listens to what he has to say.

“Any word from Bard?”

“Nothing yet. I’m sure he’s got it under control.” Thorin taps his foot impatiently and Bilbo rubs his hands up and down his boyfriend’s arms.

“This is definitely getting you brownie points,” Bilbo whispers. Thorin harrumphs and crosses his arms.

“Look, you know more than I do about this, this… whatever it is that Thranduil suffers from.” Thorin sags and nods.

“Bard is a doctor. As in, we’re all doing him a great disservice by not referring to him as Doctor Bowman, doctor. He’s got that title for a reason. He’ll make everything better, I’m sure. If not for Legolas’ and our sakes, for his own.” Thorin slowly raises an eyebrow. Bilbo deadpans.

“You have no idea?”

“What?”

“You don’t know that… Between the two of them…” Bilbo gestures between himself and Thorin.

“‘Between the two of them,’ what?” Bilbo snickers and kisses Thorin’s cheek.

“I’ll let you have that conversation, then.”

It’s as the children are settled down and the party (Radagast) has left for the evening that Bilbo’s phone rings. Legolas is passed out on the couch from worry. Fíli is next to him snoring obnoxiously. Bilbo leaves the room, to answer. Thorin follows.

“Can you get the door please?” Bard asks, sounding a little out of breath. Bilbo rushes to the front door, swinging it open.

Bard stands there with Thranduil leaning heavily on him. In one hand is a cane. Bard has a tight hold on Thranduil’s hip.

“Couldn’t do with leaving a patient unattended overnight,” Bard says, ushering the taller man inside. Thorin says nothing, wisely so. Thranduil doesn’t open his eyes, he’s kept them screwed shut, can’t possibly know he’s here.

“I’m taking him to lie down, keep the kiddos distracted, yeah?” Thorin nods and returns to the living room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Bilbo opens doors for the pair, and hangs back as Bard puts Thranduil down on what had to have been his own bed.

“Bard, is there anything I can do?” Bard sits down next to Thranduil as he breathes shallowly.

“No, not at the moment. The worst of this episode has passed, but he’s not going to be upright for another day or so.” Bilbo sucks in air through his teeth. He wants to ask why, but thinks better of it. Bard wipes the sweat off of Thranduil’s forehead with a washcloth and exhales.

“How’s Legolas?” “Better. Got him to talk a bit.” “Good. That kid is wound up a little too tightly for his own good.” Bard says it fondly. Bilbo stays for a moment longer before the doctor sends him away, assuring that he had everything under control.

Bilbo joins Thorin and the rest back in the living room. Legolas had woken up. He and Thorin were speaking softly to one another. They turn to him, and Bilbo sighs.

“He’ll be fine, but it will take time.” Legolas perks up.

“Is Bard back?” Bilbo nods. “With your father in tow. You should give him some space tonight, but tomorrow I’m sure you’d be good to smother him with kisses.” Bilbo smiles at the aborted gag that Legolas responds with. Color was beginning to creep back into his face. Sleepiness too. Bilbo shoos him back on the couch next to Fíli and promises to wake him up if anything should happen.

With everyone asleep again, Bilbo leaves the living room to find Thorin sat in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. Bilbo joins him quietly. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asks.

Thorin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Bilbo sits next to him, leaning on his side.

“You know we met in college, and I’ve never hated someone so much in so little time,” Thorin laughs, humorlessly. “We tormented one another for years. Insults, pranks, just general nastiness was what we thrived on. The worst of it is, Bilbo? I can’t remember how it started. How we got so volatile.” He rubs his mouth. Bilbo hums and focuses all of his attention on Thorin.

“A year out of college, there was this reunion with fraternities or something. We both showed up, I can’t remember. It went about as well as you would expect.” Bilbo winces and fixes Thorin’s hair so it is behind his ear. “I’d decided I had enough. Why should I have to put up with this idiot? So I got up, got in my car and left.”

“Thranduil was pissed about something, had followed me out. Not yelling or anything, but angry. I ignored him and pulled into traffic, and,” he breathes in and Bilbo continues to soothe the man’s forehead and neck. “There was this car, driving down the wrong side of the road. I swerved into the ditch. Looked up just in time to see the motherfucker slam into the front of the restaurant where Thranduil was.”

“Mahal, I was so angry at the world for taking Dad. For what Mom went through because of it. So angry that I didn’t have any other option but to be a caregiver to Frerin and Dís. I don’t begrudge my siblings. I can’t. It’s just how things were. But Bilbo, I never, I _never_ wanted Thranduil dead.”

Bilbo listens to him speak and soothes his arm, trying to reassure him. He decides it’s not his place to speak up and tell Thorin this or that in this moment. Thorin leans his head on top of Bilbo’s for a moment, sighing into him.

“Thank you for listening,” he grumbles out, weary. Bilbo nods, breathes with him and says, “Thank you for telling me.”

Coffee and memories finished, the two return to the living room, only to find Bard talking to Legolas in low tones. They let them finish in peace before entering the room.

Bard looks up and nods to the two of them.

“I was just telling Legolas everything is okay. After a fit like that, Thranduil will be winded but okay.” Bilbo nods, sagging a little in relief. Thorin is the one who responds.

“Is there anything we can do, Bard?” Legolas turns to stare fully at Thorin. Shock etches itself on his face.

“Keep an eye on this one, for starters,” Bard says scrubbing a hand down his face and nodding at Legolas.

“Aside from that, no. Sigrid is old enough to watch the other two. Besides, it’s not like they stay in the house if they can help it. Thank you Thorin, but I think I’ve got it under control.” Bard nods at them before returning to his room, his patient.

Thorin nods and looks at the clock. It’s way past midnight, Bilbo notices. “Back to bed with you, Legolas.”

* * *

The morning comes slowly, the storm from yesterday still lingering.

Bilbo knocks quietly on Bard’s door and when he doesn’t receive a response, he cracks the door open. Bard is asleep on the far side of the bed, a hand splayed in the center of Thranduil’s chest as if to anchor him there. Bilbo smiles. The two are sleeping peacefully, and if he closes the curtains for their sake, no one has to know.

Sparing the sleeping duo one more glance, Bilbo closes the door behind him.

After Thranduil’s incident things mellow out once more in the burrow. Not much else changes. Bilbo doesn’t say anything when he sees Thranduil’s Lexus parked in Bard’s driveway a week later. He just smiles.


End file.
